


Intuitive

by blackgrl71



Category: Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 41,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackgrl71/pseuds/blackgrl71
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*The information and general ideas are based off of one of my favorite international intrigue authors: Eric B. Lustbader. Derived from his Asian-American-Soviet-era, Nicholas Linnear novels such as The Jian or Second Skin, I began to imagine Miranda and Andy in such a startling and complex world where loyalties are few and the shadows are often dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *This story has some disturbing images of violence and sexual violence, but is necessary to the storyline. Please pass if this is makes you uncomfortable.
> 
> *Please allow for some serious artistic license and any historical and cultural inaccuracies, I’m only a ‘fan’ of history, not an expert. Also I've moved around some historical timelines to suit to story, so beware. But I read lots and watch lots of documentaries, so hopefully that’s gotta count for something… right? lol
> 
> *There is absolutely a Working Key for this fic
> 
> *Last but not least, any and all mistakes are my own and feedback is much appreciated. With all that said, I hope you enjoy the ride.

General Miranda Priestnicov’s 4-inch heels beat a steady staccato down the concrete hallway of the infamous **_Lubyanka_** , lined with industrial-style cinder blocks painted pale green. She finally came to a door designating her title: Comarde General Priestnicov, head of the First Chief Directorate, Minister of Interior Security, the feared arm of the _apparat._

Entering her domain, she once again sighed over her the Party’s lack of any hint of style or substance when it came to decorating or designing the interior (and much of the exterior) of government buildings _._ Luckily her house on the Black Sea, was filled with warmth and light, decadent paintings from the West, furnishings from China, including a secret compartment that stored among many things, her precious books, clothing from some of the most premiere fashion houses in the world, and relics from like one of the famous **Imperial Fabergé Eggs** called the **Cherub with Chariot Egg**.  However, her stark office consisted of the ever-present drab, hospital-green walls, a heavy, black phone, guaranteed to work just as well as a weapon in a pinch, 1950s-styled furniture: an aluminum desk that seemed as old as the building, and her uncomfortable metal chair, with a tad bit of cushioning on the seat, which she’d just received after waiting months for a requested “upgrade.” __

The _**Komet Gosudarstvennoi Bezopasnosti**_ or more commonly known as the infamous **KGB** , in which Miranda manipulated, cleverly fought, killed, even as a last resort (and with a great deal of reluctance) fucked, her way into this position. It was the only way a woman with her looks, intelligence, and her drive, could have any chance to advance to such heights within the Soviet hierarchy. In addition, Miranda also held an esteemed position within the Politburo or the government arm. The powerful Minister Yuri Dzerzhinsky had been her predecessor; ruthless, cunning, and as ambitious as Miranda, he wasn’t as immune to her charms as he probably believed. But Miranda if nothing else, was an expert on finding people’s weaknesses.  

Consequently, after his attempted sexual assault against her that she was luckily able to deflect, she poisoned his favorite aged vodka, opened a gas line, proceeded to stuff newspaper into a toaster, and then programmed it to toast. And as she was darting into her waiting car, with her trusty driver-KGB agent-driver, she watched with vicious satisfaction as his home blew up. Killing a Minister of Security within the Politburo had to be done very delicately. Luckily this is Russia, men-in-power meeting violent ends were as common as a Russian soldier drunk on cheap vodka.

Miranda was mindful that she was building up quite the body-count. Lest anyone think that her ambition is everything, killing is never easy, and she had nightmares for weeks, but it was killed or be killed, in Communist Russia. Any hint of ambition, particularly as a woman, often meant your life-span became increasingly shorter.

It was very rare that a woman with her intelligence and yes, even looks was rewarded for such attributes. it also helped that she was an expert in successfully coordinating foreign operations, deciphering codes, had an ear for languages, including local vernaculars, as well as, ferreting out spies and plots against The Party. Her office was housed in the infamous **_Lubyanka_** , home of the Soviet Intelligence apparatus, while it may be a place one wanted to work, it was definitely not a place one wanted to “visit.” Infamous for the Soviet purges, many people were marched through the front doors never to be seen again. There was a running Russian joke that said that _since it was the tallest building in Moscow, you can see Siberia from its basement._ But for Miranda it was no joke.

She was the product of Russian Jews; her father had been a linguist and believed in the beauty of the written word in all of its languages. Her mother had been a literature teacher and they kept a secret compartment to hide the dozens of precious books from the KGB.  Nevertheless, her family was the victim of one of Stalin’s Great Purges; random names selected by his advisors, delivered at night. If one was lucky, he'd randomly cross off your name with no apparent rhyme or reason. The rest were immediately rounded up for either a slow, painful death in Siberia in the Gulag, or something quick and simple such as an execution-style bullet. Her family did not make the cut.

So one early morning when Miranda was at school practicing the Soviet manifesto in German, a group of men in black course overcoats, rounded up her parents, her sister, and her brother into the infamous black vans to be ushered off to ** _Lubyanka’s_** cruel embrace. Two plainsclothes men showed up to her class to usher her into a waiting black **_Chaika_** idling nearby. A burly, huge, man with a dark beard and piercing dark eyes, wearing Soviet military dress, medals affixed upon his left breast, sat across from her smoking a Cuban cigar, watching her intently. By then Miranda was already a beautiful young woman; long blonde hair, ice-blue eyes and thick dark lashes, tender young breasts becoming fuller, long coltish legs, perched nervously under her Soviet school uniform.

“I am General Helmut Andropov of the First Directorate. Your parents and siblings have been found to be enemies of the Party. As such, they have been taken to be ** _Rehabilitated_**.” He paused, watching her reaction like a hawk, puffing on his cigar. “But you are class leader and we receive exemplary reports from the CPSU. You will make a fine addition to the Party school. Don’t you agree?”

Meanwhile Miranda, even at the age of 13, instinctively knew that her reaction and response would have an immediate and monumental impact on her life. So she viciously squashed the urge to plea for her family’s life, while trying to stem the welling, hot emotion crawling up her throat.

 She swallowed hard, before smoothing her features. “I am humbled and honored to serve the People’s Party, Comrade General.” And in that moment Miranda knew she'd do whatever it took to seek vengeance against the people who destroyed her family.

From that moment on, Andropov guided her through the cumbersome, yet demanding Soviet educational apparatus, on through Higher Party Schools, until her entrance into the **_militsiya_** _or Higher Party military school,_ before formally beginning her career under his direct tutelage at the First Chief Directorate. Not knowing that underneath her brilliance, ambition, her expertise in linguistics and code-breaking, facilitating operations, she burned with the knowledge that he was one of the one’s responsible for murdering her beloved family.  Beyond that, Miranda had bigger plans and those plans were called **Operation Moonstone**. 


	2. Chapter 2

Andy lazily sat under the big, ancient, magnolia tree, lightly chewing on a blade of grass, her lean, muscular body seemingly harmless and oblivious to the idyllic surroundings. But those were false assumptions. Andy was an operative for an agency only the head of NSA and the President knew about. It was heavily funded through various dummy accounts and the agents were few, but very effective. It was that reason that she had the ability to effortlessly and fluidly roll to her feet into an attack in less time that it took for most people to open a door.

The setting was also deceptively dangerous. This beautiful Virginian countryside with rolling green hills, prime Arabians, Dappled Greys, and an Appaloosa, Andy’s horse, stood grazing along the wooded fences. Overlooking the beautiful scenery on 400 acres stood a large, Neo-Classical home, with elegant porticoes, gorgeous carved windows, and grand three-story spiral staircase. But it was underneath this impressive structure that told the true story. Known as The Tombs, it housed facilities that facilitated some of the most elite spies, ‘problem-solvers, and ‘clean-up crews, and other essential components that provided crucial intel and solutions for American interests.

Andy was a seasoned operative of this apparatus, recently returned from an operation in Hong Kong. Her body was still healing and she spent this time consciously calming herself before the storm; she had an impending debriefing with Alex Shores and Joan Campbell. Alex was this ‘golden boy’ with impeccable credentials, graduated from Princeton. His job was essential to see the ‘big picture. However, with no actual field work under his belt, it was hard for him to maintain mutual respect from many of the operatives. Although, none dared to openly show it, it was done as subtly as any operative worth their experience could do.

Joan Campbell on the other hand, while having to navigate a more than likely misogynistic  administrative department with Cold War relics like Michael Kurran, she also had years of field work under her belt from her duties at Langley, which made her a favorite with the operatives. It didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes. However, debriefing with either of them (Campbell or Shores) wasn’t what concerned Andy, it was Kurran.

The word was that Kurran was making a rare appearance today. Kurran was one of those people that worked best closer to power and so he spent most of his time whispering in President’s ear, manipulating wars, or security hawks in the NSA, while continuously sneering his nose at either the CIA (who were still bitter about him stealing Joan right under their noses), and the FBI. The operatives at The Tombs were unique in that they didn’t necessarily have to have traditional military backgrounds, they had to be brilliant, shrewd, cunning, and have unique fighting and infiltration skills, which is how Andy came to their attention.

Andy is the product of American expatriates in Hong Kong, who’d chosen to stay despite the Cultural Revolution and the rising Socialist Regime on China’s Mainland. They’d been working for the Red Cross at the time; both of her parents had been doctors. But Andy’s had come down with Yellow Fever, and then died a few months after her birth. Her mother settled in Hong Kong and for most of Andy’s life she grew up running the streets, riding the junks (boats) that lined the South China Sea each day, while her mother grew more despondent each day over the death of her Father.

Her Mother loved her, but Andy discovered rather quickly that she’d loved her Father and then opium more. It was as she was withering away on a hot summer’s day, while Andy was once again dodging the Chinese gangs of youths targeting the _gwai loh_ or white eyes that she’d stumbled on a veritable oasis. Breathing heavily, her heart racing in her thin chest, she came upon a set of beautifully-carved mahogany doors. It was if something was telling her to gently push open this door, the footsteps of her pursuers getting closer, she quickly darted inside, hoping to find a brief reprieve from the daily bullying.

But inside it was if she’d entered an entirely new world. So quiet, only broken by the sound of steady stream of water tickling over the carefully placed stones, she walked closer to the opaque pool of water, letting out a gasp as she saw that it had fish darting around in it. But they seemed to… fit. Not like an aquarium.

“They are called Koi fish. But it appears that another fish has landed out-of-water.” Came a voice from behind her, startling her.

With a hand clutched to her chest she quickly spun around, fearfully yet defiantly holding up her little fists, preparing to defend herself. Instead she saw a middle-aged Chinese man, calmly watching her, with his hands clasped together, appearing non-threatening, wearing a traditional Chinese peasant garb. Seemingly frail, yet his eyes missed nothing. He smoothly stepped around her and began tinkering with some of the foliage, which she learned was carefully placed bonsai trees and foliage.

Watching him, little Andy sensed no danger, but alertness, she finally lowered her fists, her breathing finally slowed. “Wh-who are you? And what is this place?”

He stood up, once again staring intently at Andy. He swept his arm around, indicating the oasis. “This is my garden. _Feng shui_ may guide my hand, but the ancestors and continued pursuit of spiritual utopia is my motivation.” He walked closer to Andy; his onyx-gaze seemed ageless, peered into her soul. “But the question is, who are **you** and **_who_** do you strive to be?”

From that moment on, Andy felt as if the ancestors had been waiting for that moment; destiny was calling that day. Known only as Master Shiu, he became her teacher, her trainer, her spiritual guide, in the ways of mind and body. In return she maintained his _poetic garden_ , while expanding her mind through her more traditional studies. This was also her introduction to _ba-mahk_ ; the ability to sink into her surroundings, even in thick fog, to find the pulse of everything around her, _a way to see through the dark_. This philosophy was what guided her through combat strategy and made her victorious.

As the months passed, followed by years, her Mother finally succumbed to years of depression and an addiction to opium, leaving her in the care of her Chinese-Japanese nanny who’d been living in exile and was an Untouchable because of her hated mixed heritage. The wounds left by the Japanese were still very fresh.

Regardless of the scar running down one cheek from her right temple to the corner of her lip, she was still very beautiful. Lithe, tall, and graceful, with long, bone-straight, hair that fell down her back like a waterfall, a very sweet nature, and Andy believed she loved her as if she was her true mother. She was also a firm taskmaster and she made sure that Andy was very educated. By the time Andy reached eight-teen, she not was expert in various forms of fighting styles, she was also fluent in several dialects of Chinese, as well as, a few foreign languages in addition to English.

Miko Shizumi or as Andy called her Mi-Mi, had been more of a mother to her than her real Mother. Added to this, was Miko’s long-time lover, who always brought Andy treats when he visited. Known as Three Oaths Chung, he lived on one of the larger junks in the South China Sea.  Andy wouldn’t learn until later that he was the head of one of the larger organized crime syndicates. As a teenager, standing at  5’8, long legs as hard as bamboo and sleekly muscled, soft skin spilled over stomach muscles as hard as a slab of stone, the calluses were found along the edges of her hands, fingers, knuckles, and feet indicated many years of martial arts. A multitude of scars found along her body indicated that her fighting skills weren’t just for show.

However, this was off-set by her long, lush mahogany hair, with lighter strands burnished by hours in the sun, fell in gentle waves along her neck and shoulders. Big whiskey-colored eyes, surrounded by thick, long, lashes, a gentle sloping noses lightly sprinkled with sun-burnished freckles, gave her an almost innocent, girl-next-door appearance. Until you came to her bee-stung lips, decadent and full, they often inspired naughtier thoughts in men (and some women), while eliciting feelings of envy from others. The fact that her body was a highly-trained weapon was made even more so by her physical appearance; her targets often thought along those similar lines right before the life died out in their eyes. But her career started on those streets of Hong Kong.

This was exemplified in the many beatings she handed out against many of the same bullies who chased her through the streets in her younger years.  Three Oaths liked the prickly, perhaps foolishly brave, Caucasian girl that sent many Chinese boys home with blackened eyes.  She was also fiercely protective of the smaller kids or kids who couldn’t defend themselves, and especially protective of Miko.

Three Oaths Chung would be responsible for her later teenage years and her subsequent recruitment into The Tombs, by Joan Campbell.  


	3. Chapter 3

_She’d just finished ‘retrieving’ some information for Three Oaths; the young Brit who earlier thought he was impervious to Chinese “debt collection” after he lost a substantial amount in one of Three Oaths illegal gambling establishments, was sitting listlessly, bruised and battered, in dirty pool of dank water, near her feet. A nearby groan alerted Andy to his so-called “muscle,” laid a squat, more fat than muscular, Chinese male, who was currently missing some teeth due to her elbow, a few broken ribs due to her feet, and a bloodied, broken nose due to her fists, when she heard a incongruous sound a few feet down the alley. As Master Shiu taught her, she focused on extending her senses, listening as the footsteps came closer; they were female, plus a dozen bits of additional information from the footsteps alone. Smoothly, yet effortlessly turning towards the intruder, keeping her center, feet spread just enough in case she had fight again, she was nevertheless surprised by the woman that approached._

 _Long, blonde hair, blue eyes, American clothing, and she was holding her hands open and in a placating gesture. “Hello. I made sure to wait until your business was… concluded before approaching you.” She paused, quickly opening up her quarter-length black jacket. “I have no weapons. I just want a few moments of your time.”_

 _Andy snorted derisively. “That was foolish. You should never come unarmed in this place. What do you want?!”_

 _“I never said I was unarmed, just that I had no weapons.” Looking around, delicately shuddering at the rank smell of gutted fish and other decaying scents. “I simply want a few moments  of your time. Is there some place we can go?” Holding up her hands once again, she pled her case. “Besides,” she looked over at the groaning, injured men, “from the looks of things you can handle yourself on the chance you think I’m trying to kill you.”_

 _So they ended up at one of Andy’s favorite haunts, a small dingy place, where gamblers sweated over games of **majong** and dice, while eating dumplings with a generous splash of soy sauce and chili oil, drinking ice cold beer. It was here that Joan pitched her the idea of working directly for American interests abroad, with an occasional  debriefing and further training at The Tombs. There were three reasons for accepting the position; 1) remaining the ‘muscle’ for her Elder Uncle’s various business interests was unattractive, and 2) she wanted more of a connection to her parents’ country. The third reason was that, she always believed in a world bigger than her, and that the battle between good and evil joss was everywhere, touching everyone’s lives. Not everyone, in fact, most didn’t have the capacity to fight back; Andy believed that she was destined to join this fight the minute she stepped through Master Shiu’s doors. _

Which is why Andy was dreading the debriefing coming up; she’d lost good men and women in the last operation, and her ears were still ringing from the percussion of the explosion. There was a mole. More importantly, she lost her sometime lover and right-hand, Bliss Kao. She’d saved Andy’s life while giving up her own, and that sat in Andy’s stomach like wet cement. Bliss had been her spiritual sister, just as Joan Campbell was her Spiritual Mother. Both have given Andy purpose, saw beyond the killer, saw beyond the woman, into her _qi_ , and understood who she was.

As she ambled gracefully into the cool exterior of the great home, she once again tried to determine, for the thousandth time, how or who leaked the raid on the Yakuza-Russian mob meeting. She nodded her head at the bodyguard posing as a male attendant sitting at the desk into the library, before the fake bookcase slid open into another room, where a few people were seated.

Joan was seated in one of the great, leather wing-back chairs, sitting composed, a flash of sympathy darted through her eyes before she returned to her blank expression. Next to her was Douglas Fairbanks, who looked nothing like an operative, he wasn’t smooth or polished like the Ivy-leaguer Alex Shores, and like Alex he had no field experience. But what Alex lacked in self-awareness, emanating a patronizing attitude towards the operatives, Doug made up it for in understanding his limitations, yet always willing to go an extra mile for an operative in tight situation. Doug gave off that one-of-the-guys  persona; with his rumbled appearance, mildly clumsy manner, slightly over-weight frame, but possessed an extraordinarily brilliant mind. It made him rather.. likeable.  Next to Doug was another operative name Nate Thomas. Actually his job really focused on clean-up or rather _wet work_. If he happened to come onto vital information that was a plus, but mostly if he’s being sent into a situation, it’s too late, because whoever he met on the other end didn’t survive.

Andy didn’t really care for him, particularly after his one pathetic attempt at a pass went down in a flame. Andy thought he had little regard for women in this business (or in general), believing he was better than Andy by virtue of his sex. It will be his greatest weakness. It wasn’t that he thought women couldn’t be effective agents; he believed that their biology would inevitably be their downfall in the field. He also believed Andy’s sexuality was “limiting,” was the word he used. Luckily Andy could care less what he thought and she also knew that she was a better agent than Nate. A fact that she knew that Nate: a) didn’t truly believe and b) yet subconsciously believed, which was why he hated her. However, Nate like most times, wasn’t the most pressing issue at the moment.


	4. Chapter 4

“Have seat Andy.” Joan motioned the one of two empty, wing-backed chairs located near Nate.

Stifling her nervousness, Andy began to enter _prana_ or deep breathing, lessening the tension, centering her _qi,_ as she effortlessly slid into her chair, a picture of calm and confidence. Keeping her weight on the balls of her feet and the backs of her thighs in case she needed to spring from her seat into an offensive or defensive position (one never knew with Nate sitting next her), she turned attentive eyes towards Joan.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps; male, well over six-feet, approaching the door; no doubt, Michael Kurran. The door opened and in walked a tall, lanky, steely- gray-haired man, features almost bird-like, skin craggy with age and exposure to the sun, the air of power and arrogance emanating from him fell over the room like a stench. In the traditional Washington D.C. power-suit, he was creating an actual stench of his own by puffing on a Cuban cigar. The fragrant smoke, curled around the room like a ghostly apparition.

He stiffly slid into the remaining chair, still puffing away, cold, deep blue eyes, zeroed in on Andy, like tick on a hog and just as unpleasant. “What the fuck happened in Kowloon?! I sent your skinny ass there to retrieve info on Moonstone, with that ‘specially hand-picked and trained’ unit of yours, supposedly the best we got, and you’re the only one left?!”

It took everything inside Andy to not leap from the chair and across the room, to smash in Kurran’s windpipe. The tensing from Joan and Doug meant that they knew what Andy was thinking. Taking a moment to once again engage _prana_ , she was able to come back to herself. “There was a mole. That could be the only explanation because other than Joan, Doug, Alex, and my… _dantai_ (group), no one else could have known.”

Nate, negligently sprawled in his chair, studying his fingernails, chimed in without taking his eyes from his hands. “Well from the sounds of things, it wasn’t well planned.”

Gritting her teeth, the aches and pains from the explosion at O-Nichiren House (a known Japanese yakuza club), were making themselves felt, the dull throb of her headache from the concussion, ratcheting up once again like a dark entity, right behind her eyes.

Ignoring the sweat starting to dot along her back, using her training to breathe through the pain, she kept her eyes trained on Kurran. “Well I guess it’s a good thing you weren’t hired for your limited intellect or deduction skills or we’d all be in trouble, if that’s the best you can come up with Nate.” 

 Dismissing the snort from Nate, feeling his _qi_ go slightly red in anger, she refocused on the matter at hand: Kurran. “We’d been planning, re-strategizing, training, running simulation upon simulation at the Hong Kong station; we had tons of intel on our target. It should have been successful!” She swallowed hard at the loss of her team.

“So you mean to tell me that an entire team of highly trained operatives, under your direction, walked into a trap, yet **you** came out alive?! Any thoughts on why I shouldn’t deep-six you for this colossal fuck-up?! I got the President on my ass like a hot boil in the sun, because of this clusterfuck, and I got a diplomatic shit-storm with the fucking Chinese because our dead fucking operatives were found in a bombed-out building, on Chinese soil!”  He narrowed his beady eyes at Andy in a heated glare.

“Because I’m the only one who can figure out who the mole is. There’s not another operative who can ferret out information in Asia the way I can.” Great Buddha, Andy hoped she wouldn’t have to fight her way out of here.

On the other hand, it would be more useful if Kurran decided to suspend Andy, even though it would leave her even more vulnerable because she wouldn’t have The Tombs’ resources in a tight bind, Andy found that she worked well alone. Her contacts had a way of… _smelling_ an American operative a mile away.

Joan, with fingers steepled together in contemplation, interrupted to fire off a question, her hazel bluish-green eyes looking at Andy with an inscrutable expression. “Was there anything definitive, anything at all that you can remember that would give any indication to a mole? Losing a _dantai_ , a very key asset to The Tombs is huge Andy. You have to understand our… position.”  

Andy understood. The _dantai_ was a group of six individuals, hand-picked by Andy, each with their own strengths, expert in various combats practices, lived, worked, trained, even breathed together, with extraordinary amounts of courage and discipline for more than five years. They were as intimate as lovers who weren’t lovers, as connected as siblings, with David Liu as her right-hand. David was truly her blood-brother and definitely her brother as deemed by the ancestors—which was a big deal in Chinese culture. David, Zilin, Li, Huan, Kisan and of course, Bliss; to lose them all in one fell sweep was beyond devastating. Regardless of what happened here today, Andy planned to find out who was the mole and return the favor, if it was the last thing she did.

Thinking back to the moment of impact, when David grabbed the sleeve of her shirt before she took off after Komoto’s most prolific, even legendary, assassin Aiko, threw her to Bliss, allowing the woman to cover her as the explosion lit up the room. Very few people have ever seen Aiko and when they did, it was usually the last face they’d ever see. She was like a ghost, a beautiful, psychotic ghost; able to infiltrate, kill, locate, as well as, even Andy. It made her a more than worthy adversary. However, there was some talk that her handler wasn’t Yakuza, (Japanese mafia). Who or why was the question. And Andy wasn’t willing to voice her suspicions to this nest of vipers. Not without proof.

“Because when David pulled me out I heard one word: Moonstone.” Andy let that breadcrumb drop like silent bomb in the middle of the room.

Kurran stood up, buttoning his suit jacket, before once again pinning Andy with his gaze. “Let me be clear Sachs, you’re on indefinite leave until we give ourselves an in-house ‘enema.’”

He turned his glare on Joan, “Which means if there **_is_** a mole I want it found yesterday!” He began walking towards the door. “Straighten this shit out or I will do it for you!” And with that he left the room like a dragon suddenly losing its fire. 


	5. Chapter 5

Miranda stood before the fire in deep contemplation, sipping a glass of bourbon, wearing a mink shawl given to her by Yuri, wrapped around her naked shoulders, the fire casting her dark silhouette against the wall. Her mind as usual, was sifting through information like a fast-moving database. **Touchstone** was secret communications apparatus using a cipher system designed by Miranda. It allowed her to manage her operatives in the field for a specific goal.  A goal known only by her and one other, while gathering another personally less important goal for the Party: misdirection and subterfuge. This latest communiqué had her clenching her teeth in annoyance. The incompetence of some people will not be tolerated, and in her business it can get people, mainly her, killed.

Once again the name Andrea Sachs came across the intelligence briefing that only she knew about. The project was put into place a little less than twenty years ago. Ten years ago that plan was ratified; it was also the day she gave birth to her two daughters, and subsequently squired the infants out of the country on a Red Cross envoy heading across Afghanistan into Pakistan. From there they were transported to an extended family in France. Since then her cousin Nigel has been looking after them; from the reports she’d been receiving, they’ve been thriving.

However, now she had to deal with another problem: that American operative, Hong Kong expatriate, and most effective agent of The Tombs. The kind of problem that could get noticed at the Kremlin. Tomorrow she had a meeting with none other than that Cossak, with the manners of a pig, Grigory Orlov, Minister of Defense and Foreign Security , the fourth most powerful man in the Kremlin, and head of foreign operations for the Party’s military apparatus. He was also as different from Felix Vyshinsky the Chairman or General Secretariat of the Soviet Union, as wine was from cheap vodka. While Grigory believed in strengthening the old ways, Felix was young, handsome, and believed in progress. Grigory came from military and believed in a strong, inflexible government, Felix was a thinking man, bred by the finest Soviet institutions, under Stalin’s regime. If Grigory was told to “shoot” he would so with no questions asked. Felix would want to know why. Interestingly enough, Grigory was a friend, as much as one can be a friend in this snakepit, to Felix, and Miranda had a feeling he knew about their relationship, which made Miranda… concerned.

His biggest ally was a man named Alexi Kurylenko, the second most powerful man in the Kremlin. Tall, lanky, with thick blonde hair that was always slicked back from his strong forehead, Kurylenko exuded arrogance, with a quiet sort of menace. Whereas Olav exuded a brutish, working-class, military exterior, Kurylenko emanated a more polished, cultured, coolness. Yet for some reason they got along. Miranda suspected because Orlav didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, Kurylenko did most of the planning. But with the same darkness, maliciousness,

Kurylenko was the Minister of Agriculture and President of the Academy of Sciences. The title sounded innocuous, but as anyone who knew, Kurylenko was the person in charge of Russia’s technology and science. It might not seem like much, but all military and security advances were developed and approved through his office: need a nuclear scientist or a biological weapon? He’s the person who provided those tools. He also managed to insert himself most of the key military operations, cementing his power within the Potliburo

But Miranda believed that like all powerful men, both men had secrets, infested with darkness, threatening them in their nightmares, particularly if one has risen to level the that Grigory and Alexi have. This darkness, or as the Americans say “skeletons in the closet,” stayed buried because it was a weakness. However, while Miranda may have occasionally used her more obvious… _assets_ to secure her position, one didn’t become head of the Soviet’s infamous security apparatus, on tits and ass alone. Miranda was an expert in strategy and information-gathering, and she was ruthless in executing both skills. Downing the rest of the bourbon, a secret American self-indulgence (among other things), enjoying the feel of the mink as it slid across her naked body, until she felt a pair of warm arms slide around her waist.  The soft-skin and Chanel perfume, soft brownish-red hair tickled against her shoulders and neck, as the person leaned over to brush her lips against ear, cluing Miranda that her guest was growing impatient.

“ _Koshka_ , why don’t you come back to bed? I’m getting cold,” urged the delicate tones of her lover from the Ukraine. They were in Miranda’s house on the coast of the Black Sea, where many of the Party’s top officials maintained a vacation home.

Sighing, Miranda brought her hands up to trap her guests hands against her, Olga’s fingers pressing against the warm, muscled, curves of Miranda’s stomach. Leaning her head back against her lover’s shoulder, she thought about all the secrets she kept, knowing that if they were ever disclosed, an extended “visit” to the Gulag would be the least of her worries. 


	6. Chapter 6

Andy stepped out of the taxi at Aberdeen Harbor where Three Oaths Chung’s junk was located, its high triangular sails, made to protect against typhoon weather, glowing like a dark pumpkin color against the night sky.  Stepping onto the gently rocking planks that led onto the boat, she was greeted by two of his men, with a nod she kept walking by until she got to a cabin door, and was met by an older, Chinese male, with big, liquid, dark eyes.

“Younger Niece, you have made it! The great fornicating Americans were probably the ones who gave you that bruise on your jaw. Come, I imagine you are hungry for some authentic Chinese food.” He ushered her inside to an anteroom with a huge flat-screen TV on side, three flat monitors showing the American stock market, as well as, Hong Kong’s stock market, **_Hang Seng_**.

In the middle sat a low lacquered table, no doubt part of her Elder Uncle’s collection of Chiang antiques. Around that sat plush pillows and thick throws. “Fo Sang has prepared all your favorites. But first let us have something to drink. Yes?”

She wearily slid down onto the luxurious, plush seating, sighing in pleasure.  After more than 24 hours on a plane, then having to fight off three assassins, not to mention she was still recovering from both the emotional and physical effects from the botched operation at O-Nichiren House—she was simply spent. By the Gods, the immense pressure that was gathering like a storm on her shoulders, felt overwhelming at times.

Watching as her Elder Uncle poured fragrant oolong tea in delicate cups, allowed her time to sit and breathe in the silence as she sipped the smooth-tasting tea, finding the informal ceremony of it relaxing. It was then that she told her Uncle the general outline of her meeting at The Tombs. She bit back a smile when he called Kurran a _Great Pool of Piddle_ and knew that from that moment forth, every time she looked at Kurran she’ll remember the nickname designated by Three Oaths.

“So have you picked up any more info on that name I gave you?” inquired Andy.

Shoving a dumpling into his mouth, chewing contentedly, Three Oath’s hummed in appreciation before he replied. “Well it turns out that it is definitely the fornicating Soviets. May all the gods defecate on them.”

Andy gapped at him in surprise before realizing that she should have guessed the same thing. _Buddha_ , she could almost guess specifically guess **which** Soviet too. _Miranda Priestnicov_. Reports were that she was a brilliant strategist and equally deadly. Andy believed it was her plan to sink the Soviet’s tentacles into the profitable Chinese territory. Andy had also gleaned from her intel that there had been a bit of a dust-up in the Soviet Party’s Politburo and that it had Priestnicov’s hands all over it.

But what did they Soviets want with a Japanese _oyabun_? If it turned out that Priestnicov had her _dantai_ killed, Andy would personally make it her mission to see that she paid with her life. It also looked like Andy had to make a trip to Japan.  Later in her room, she stood before her safe, punching in her security code before pulling out the file labeled – predictably: Top Secret. Andy shook her head thinking, a high-tech, well-funded, security apparatus like The Tombs would have thought of an innovative, discreet method of passing along highly sensitive materials. Nevertheless, Andy sat on one of her _tatami_ -sized (a common measurement equaling the size of a Japanese _tatami_ -mat) cushion and began to peruse.

But once again her attention was ensnared by the picture of one General Miranda Priestnicov. Attractively styled, snowy-white hair, that made Andy wonder if it was a soft as it looked, a strong nose, shapely, pink lips, perfectly sculpted dark eyebrows that accentuated her most arresting feature: eyes the color of a cloudless blue sky.

They reminded her of a warm summer day, when she’d just completed a mission in Antwerp, before slipping over to Luxembourg for a little relaxation. A bag slung over her shoulder, complete with some of the famously potent, yet delicious Belgian brew, along with some food and a blanket. Andy found herself in a field on the countryside of Alscheid. As she relaxed, sinking into the lazy, summer-day, her belly finally full with food and drink, she laid onto her back, her dark hair spread out along the blanket, her skin slightly moist from the warmth of the sun, sore from her recent mission, yet content. And as she stared into the heavens above, she remembered thinking how amazing that gorgeous summer sky was that day; distinctive cornflower, light-blue.

But the warmth of that summer day didn’t come through the vision staring back at her from the picture. Those eyes were more like a cloudless sky on a brisk, bitingly cold winter day; the blue so light it bordered on iceberg. Nevertheless, General Priestnicov was beautiful in an unconventional, powerful way. She seemed untouchable, but her creamy skin only made Andy itch to put her hands all over her skin, just to feel if it was as soft as she suspected. As she continued to stare at the picture, she ran a calloused fingertip against that delicate jawline. Priestnicov was on an informal Most-Wanted list for the “Spooks” community. What intelligence agency in the U.S. wouldn’t want General Miranda Priestnicov, head of the infamous KGB within their clutches? But this picture told so little about the woman behind the icy mask.

They were given psychological profiles of notable enemy directors or major players.  From all that she’d learned of her, Priestnicov didn’t give into emotions very often, she exuded tight control and extreme self-preservation. Andy wondered if she ever let go, or what would cause her to lose control, and what would those eyes look like when that happened? Mentally shaking her head of these useless thoughts, Andy began thinking about her impending trip to Japan. It was time to contact her friend and former _sanyak,_ champion of the highest sumo division: Kaio.

Standing at 6’3, with long, curly, dark hair that was always twisted up into a tightly-bound, top-knot, Kaio was huge. When he walked into a room, even before you registered his presence with your eyes, it was his strong spirit, his _hara_ that you usually noticed first, making him appear even bigger than his large frame suggested.After a series of unique events, including Kaio attempts to kill her as he lifted her clear off the floor, slowly crushing her rib-cage.  Followed by her almost killing him in return, with a precisely aimed kite-strike at an area below his ear, even more bizarre was that soon after, Andy ended up saving his life. They inexplicably became friends as a result.

Most people assumed that a sumo’s size negated quickness or agility, but what people didn’t realize with was that underneath all the fat, a professional sumo **_sensi_** ’s legs and arms were lined with muscles similar to thick, steel cables, making them very strong. They were also trained to explode into action quickly and powerfully. In the ring, an opponent quickly learned to be faster and more agile, or they ended up meeting a painful injury or even death. In addition, all those layers of fat and muscle were essential in protecting their vital organs, making it harder for a debilitating or fatal hit to land against them. This made them a fearsome opponent if one underestimated them.

Now Kaio was an _oyabun_ or a yakuza boss. In that business, one learns that loyalty and integrity are like precious jewels, already an obsessive trait within many Japanese households, it was made even more so when it was grounded in blood, death, and fear. But if anyone would know information about what the Soviets were up to in Japan, Kaio would. As she laid down to sleep, the exhaustion and pain sweeping over her like a blanket, the last thing that flitted through her mind was a set of icy-blue eyes. 


	7. Chapter 7

 Miranda desperately tried to quell her nausea as her dinner companion continued to ignore her, while shoveling food into his mouth. In addition, she could see the wisps of hair sticking out the back of his shirt, confirming her belief that Grigory was a direct descendant of the ape she thought he was. She’d already suffered through Alexi Kurylenko’s polite, yet menacing fishing expedition about her activities, along with his skin-crawling attempts to blackmail her into his bed. Now having to meet with this buffoon, listening  to Grigory Olav’s incessant blather about the Man of Steele and how disappointed he’d be at how decadent the Party had become was almost more than Miranda could bear. Looking at Grigory’s powerful hands, covered with patterned, thick, dark, hair, Miranda sincerely hoped that she would be able to eliminate this Minister’s effectiveness before she had to do something like… flirt or worse, in order to distract him from his suspicions of her.

Alexi Kurylenko was a powerful Minister in the Politburo, 3rd in line to the General Secretary or Head of The Party, was considered the counterpart to Grigory Olav, who was the First Secretary,  and considering how this evening was progressing, she suspected both men would be a hindrance to her long-term plans. Both she’d recently uncovered something disquieting, and if her suspicions are confirmed, even repugnant, about both men; something from their past. And if there was one thing Miranda has learned about digging up people’s past, it was that things tended to get dirty.

 Miranda could barely refrain herself from pursing her lips in disgust from the loud noise from Alexi made while practically slurping his vodka.  Grigory slammed down the glass before wiping the back of his hand along his lips ( _instead of using his napkin_ , she thought with more disgust), his beady, slightly Asiatic- dark, eyes narrowed on Miranda. “Now you will tell me what happened at your disastrous mission at O-Nichiren House.”

“I’m not sure what more I could tell you other than what was in my report,” Miranda calmly replied.

But inside she was anything but calm. Grigory was more powerful than her, and while Miranda took over Yuri’s position within the Politburo, she had no illusions that her gender kept the vaunted powers that Yuri enjoyed, from being passed onto her. Instead everyone looked to Grigory as the “new” Yuri. This was their first meeting. A noted sexist, a relic from more dangerous times under Stalin -- while the Party preached about egalitarian principles, beyond race, gender, and class, the truth was more dangerous than fiction.  But then like most political or religious dogma, Socialism or Capitalism, Christianity or Hinduism, ideals often became bastardized when left up to man to execute them.

Miranda was of the belief that no matter how utopian a philosophy or dogma may be, humans can never get beyond their own egos, greed, and ambitions to execute it properly; therefore no system will ever be perfect or egalitarian – officials often fell victim to their own hubris. Add to that, were the rabid true-believers or fanatics: they will do everything possible to promote literal, brain-dead, belief-systems, they stymie any attempts towards critical thinking about their preferred dogma, and often perpetuate oppressive rules to support their belief system.

To question it, to seek progress beyond the more primitive, literal ideas, was/is considered dangerous. Change meant uncertainty and Grigory was such an instrument to prevent change from happening in Russia. Ironic considering that his close ally, Minister of Agriculture and scientific advances was a true believer in progress. However, Grigory, no doubt, hated everything Miranda stood for, and will be looking to crush or enslave her. And like others before him, Miranda will find his weakness, exploit it, and destroy him as part of her last act as a Soviet officer.

But first she had to deal with her other pressing problem that could expose her plans: Andrea Sachs.

The Tombs, NSA, CIA, MI6, have all sent agents to try to infiltrate her organization and in many cases undermine her operations, but they’ve all been bungling fools or fell victim to her ‘charms.’ Yet, none were more dangerous than the very talented American operative. And if she were honest with herself, she was also the most attractive.

As Grigory droned on about the decadent West, Miranda thought about the file safely hidden away at her home. Recalling the latest image of Sachs; thick, long, tresses, the color of her favorite chocolate; big, doe-brown, cinnamon-colored eyes surrounded by thick, dark, lashes seemed to pull you in with a seemingly innocent , bottomless, gaze. Full, pouty lips begging to be kissed, and that little cleft on her chin, made one want to dip their tongue into it. It was only a head-shot, but it still puzzled Miranda how a young woman like her, managed to kill her agents, undermine her latest operation, and ferret out more information about Miranda than American operative she’d encountered.

She wondered if they (the West) finally figured out that the men were just a means to an end, more importantly, unwitting tools within her own agenda. She mentally shrugged, it would not matter, because nothing and certain not a barely, as the Americans say, “wet behind the ears,” (albeit hauntingly beautiful), woman. 


	8. Chapter 8

Andy had spent the better part of the morning navigating Hong Kong traffic to make it for a last-minute flight to Tokyo. A challenge, given all her still-healing (some fresh and others now a deep ache) wounds and strained muscles from the run-in with the tails back in Hong Kong. Not to mention she was still recovering from O-Nichiren House. The headache was undoubtedly the worst. Like a horrible song that won’t go away, then occasionally turned up to blare balefully in your ear, she knew that she was dealing with a concussion. However, in this business time is not a luxury.

Hence, the reason why she was about to enter one of the many famous Japanese bathhouses called a **_sento_**. Once she completed a brief wash of soap and water prior to entering the bath – a must, she was just settling into the heated bath.Faucets lined the side of a giant pool of very hot water; some dispersing cold water at either end, while hot water flowed on the side faucets. As a **_gaijin_** , she was expected to stay near the end of the pool, however Andy was made of much sterner stuff, and she’d been going to Asian communal baths since she was a teenager. Besides, her strained muscles absolutely needed the healing-heat.  Aside from the attendant sitting at one end of the room, there were two other women in the bath with her, their skin red from the heat. Closing her eyes she allowed the ambient heat to lull her to a slight, yet, alert nap.

After soaking in the almost searing-hot, mineral, water, for close to a half hour, Andy finally decided she’d had enough. She felt looser and more relaxed than she’d had in a long time. Wringing her thick, dark hair of excess water, she grabbed up a small towel and began wiping off. She rolled her shoulders as she started towards the **_kanji_** or locker-room. Curiously she noticed as she left the bathing area, that both female bathers and the attendant were no longer there, leaving Andy alone. Her senses immediately went on alert upon noticing the irregularity as she quietly crept to her locker, seeing the same stockily-built woman, locker-room attendant from before.  Only instead of adhering to the stringent societal rules of no-staring, her obsidian eyes were zeroed in on Andy.

It was the menace she could see shining out of them that clued her before Andy moved at the same time the woman launched her attack. The woman withdrew a steal-ball, with blades protruding from it, attached to a thick chain, securely wrapped around her hand. She launched the steel ball towards Andy’s head. Andy mentally appreciated having the foresight to use the baths as her renewed limberness allowed her to bend backwards as the weapon ghosted millimeters above her skin. She quickly hit the ground, rolling to her feet as the attacker zipped the weapon back, only to shoot it right back in her direction. Andy waited until the last moment before ducking, rolling towards the assassin, the ball crashing into the wooden bench, utterly destroying it. Andy then kicked out with her feet into the assassin’s stomach, almost causing the woman to lose her grip with the weapon.

Andy ignored the draft ghosting across her intimate regions; having to fight for your life while naked can either make feel very feral or very vulnerable. Andy could only afford to feel feral. When the woman gripped her shoulder, her very strong fingers pinching at the pulse point. Andy started to lose feeling in her arm, before she brought her other arm up with her the heel of her hand leading, to smash into her assassin’s nose; blood instantly gushing everywhere. As the woman tried to gather herself by trying to wrap the chain up again so she could use it as a close-quarter weapon, Andy quickly moved to intervene; she knew she had to end this quickly—her strength, along with her exhaustion wouldn’t allow for a long fight with any successful results.

Andy had no intention of allowing that to happen. She managed to dislodge the weapon. But the woman was trained to fight through such incapacitation. So as the assassin tried to ignore the excruciating pain of a broken nose, while trying to clamp onto Andy’s pulse point, Andy used her leg to sweep the woman’s legs out from under her, sending her crashing to the floor. It didn’t matter how big or expert you were as a killer, a broken nose can have momentarily debilitating effects. Nothing made an opponent pause in a battle than a broken nose: it made the eyes instantly water, the blood gushed thickly in the mouth and throat, plus the pain radiated out like an ink stain, into all the sinuses, and then to the brain if hit hard enough. Andy definitely hit hard enough. Andy intended to take immediate advantage the situation. In fact, her life depended on it.

 Momentarily taking her eyes of her attacker, she quickly looked around for a possible weapon, ignoring` the flecks of blood gushing from the woman’s nose. However her search was interrupted when her attacker tried to wrap the chain around her neck, but Andy immediately brought her hand up, partially blocking the attempt. However, the chain cut into her neck enough that her air began to be compromised, not to mention crushing her fingers. She quickly tried to crush the back of her head into the woman’s damaged face, but at the same time she brought her other hand into place, making her fingers become very rigid. She knew she had only one chance as she felt the chain digging into her fingers, threatening to break them, while she also started to grow light-headed. _Fuck, this woman is strong_ , Andy thought frantically. _Thank Buddha she didn’t use a filament or it’d have already cut through her fingers, into her neck like butter._

Andy suddenly dipped her body, unsettling her attacker, which allowed her to turn around to face the assassin. However it only twisted the chain around her neck, tightening it ever further. Andy centered herself; narrowing in her focus, bent her other arm back, fingers strong and straight, and then essentially executed a one-inch punch: high velocity and power, within a very short distance. She thrust it in and slightly up into the woman upper-solar plexus, causing the chain to grow miniutely slack enough to retract her other hand, and then quickly struck out with that hand at her assassin’s vulnerable throat. The pressure on the chain immediately lessened as the woman cried out and fell to one knee. Andy stood up onto her toes as the woman gasped for breath, while trying to lift what was probably a suddenly very heavy ball and chain. Andy executed a round-house kick, powerfully hitting her attacker in the temple, stopping all noise from her; she completely froze. The stunned look stayed on her face, as her eyes grew dimmer as death approached, until she fell over onto her side.

Breathing heavily, staggering slightly, rubbing her now sore, slightly raw throat and swollen fingers, she continued to stare at her attacker, wondering who sent her. After washing away the woman’s blood from her skin, she quickly grabbed her clothes and dressed, kicking the now useless weapon away. Andy knelt down near the dead woman and lifted her shirt; the markings gave her a clue. The only question was why? Why would Kaio send an assassin after her? Quickly leaving the building, she slid into the old Toyota she’d “borrowed” earlier, and sped away.

She found herself in front of a dark-wooden door in an alley. Pushing through the door, she scanned the room, noting the exits, the number of people, and finally the suited-muscle standing near, the huge oyabun who was busy enjoying his food. While Andy rarely worked with guns; she felt they made a warrior of her caliber lazy because it becomes too easy to rely on a gun rather than your wits and fighting skills. It didn’t mean she was without weapons. In this case a folded up fan tucked inside her jacket. It’s not just any fan, it was a Japanese War Fan or **_Gunsen_** ; made with light-weight metals along the spines, with an almost aluminum covering instead of the traditional paper mache or bamboo, making it sharp at the edges, and could slice through skin like knife through butter.

Andy strolled up to Kaio’s table, his men placing themselves between Andy and Kaio. “Kaio-san has it really been so long?”

Looking up, the former Sumo wrestler finished slurping up his food, his pleasure at seeing his friend still alive and looking somewhat whole, he responded. “Andy! You bring lots of bad joss with you.” He gestured to the seat in front of him. “Please sit down. The sashimi here is excellent.” He busied himself pouring her an ice-cold beer, while the server placed food in front of her.

“Then you know why I’m here.” She suddenly realized she hadn’t had a decent meal since two nights ago on her Elder Uncle’s junk. As if it’d been ‘listening’ to her thoughts, her stomach heaved a growl upon this realization. She took a moment to eat, keeping alert, sinking into her surroundings, for any potential threats. Kaio was acting a bit odd and after the attack earlier in the sento, she was even doubly concerned. Except for her Elder Uncle, no one should know she was in Japan. 

He noticed the dark circles, the raw-looking skin around her throat, along with the stench of fatigue hanging off the figure in front of him, “I’d heard you had a run-in with death already and only hours in. You must take care my friend, there are forces much bigger than your plans for revenge.”

Andy paused momentarily before continuing to inhale her meal. She refocused on her friend. “Are you saying someone already knew I was on my way here?”

He chuckled as he shoved tuna sashimi into his mouth. “Tell me Andy-san, do you speak Russian?” 


	9. Chapter 9

Nate casually walked around the beautiful park, expertly tailing his next target. While he knew it wouldn’t be easy, she was still a woman. And in his humble belief, in this business, the one vulnerability that female agents cannot overcompensate for, is their sex. The odds always caught up with them. He chose to ignore the fact that those same odds had a way evening things out regardless of one’s sex. Andy Sachs… she should’ve taken him up on his offer last year, instead he received a vicious grip in his nether regions as a response. Perhaps it  wouldn’t have stopped what was about to happen to her, as he smoothly fingered his weapon hidden within his jean-jacket. Still he might have allowed her a more dignified exit then what he was about to give her.

 This was a long-time coming; it burned his craw to know that Sachs had become almost… legendary, creating resentment so hot that he knew it could cloud his judgment if he ever had to work with her. To receive those orders for the Kill Order, from Kurran on Sachs, had made him almost orgasmic. He had to reluctantly use those ridiculous, but the useful, meditation techniques Andy taught him to stop his hands from trembling with excitement.

Presently, it was all he could do to not sneer as Andy prepared a couple of incense sticks, or joss sticks in this case to ‘light way’ for whoever in the small shrine located near the tranquil Koi pond. No doubt he wasn’t pleased having to trek around **Kyu-Shiba-Rikyu Gardens**. However the one, key advantage was that the park had many hidden locations, suitable for what he needed to do.Unbeknownst to him were the icy-blue eyes following his every move and those of his quarry. His alert glance passed over his unnoticed surveillance, immediately dismissing the geisha sitting one bench away, with her beautifully-designed, paper parasol, held aloft to ward off the sun’s damaging rays. He’d immediately dismissed her; in his mind a geisha was one of the true embodiments of how a woman should conduct herself – quiet, unassuming, and deferential towards her husband, boyfriend, or father. He knew he was an archaic relic from the past—but things had been simpler for a reason: people knew their place. Confucius had it right: _"The woman follows the man. In her youth she follows her father and elder brother; when married, she follows her husband; when her husband is dead, she follows her son.”_

Had Nate been more aware of his surroundings and less focused on the object of his misogynistic thoughts, he’d have noticed that the geisha had quietly crept onto his bench. A moment too late he noticed as something gleaming silver, moved fast, with deadly intent. Before he could squeeze his fingers around his weapon, something sharp and piercing, ripped through his hand, in between his thumb and forefinger, severing the nerves, coming out the other side only to slide into his inner-thigh, dangerously close to his family jewels. At the same time, as he attempted to bring his other hand up, the “geisha’s” other hand came up and sharply struck him in the esophagus area, immediately causing it to swell, and most unfortunately debilitating him.

Icy-blue eyes, hidden by dark-brown contact lenses, watched the very unattractive facial expressions of her victim. She felt an almost visceral reaction, as she watched this ignorant bamboo, notoriously sexist, American agent, flopping around, trying to gain control of his limbs, and then realizing that the more he moved the more the shoto blade (a little longer than a butcher’s knife) dug even further into his inner-thigh, even closer to his testicles.

“Mr. Thomas, it is ‘pleasure’ to meet you. However, should you move, not only will you die even more painfully, you’ll die less than the man you already are.”  Miranda rolled her eyes as Nate bore down, trying to tear his hand through the blade. Narrowing her eyes at him, she struck quickly struck out: thumb pressed in and up on a specific location, rupturing nerves and an artery.

She watched with vicious satisfaction as blood started to seep out of his ears and nostrils. “Most do not know that certain Party members are experts in knowing which points on man’s body, if given a ‘proper’ touch, will inevitably lead to a painful death. We are experts, but I am a surgeon, Mr. Thomas.”

Nate throughout his career, the military, and covert ops training, had many occasions to dole out pain, even had some visited upon him on various times. As his vision became blurry, the stench of hot metallic fluids filled his nose, and the urge to vomit due to the excruciating pain, was made even worse at knowing how easily he’d been unmanned at the hands of a woman. The pain was intense enough that he could barely speak and as she slowly twisted the knife. He could only groan in agony as it blossomed from his leg onto everywhere else on his body, like some kind of horrible cascade effect.

 But then she suddenly leaned closer. “The woman you are following signed your death warrant and I personally, wanted to deliver it. If anyone is to kill Sachs, it will be me. Not some grossly decadent, Neanderthal, sneaking a ‘kill shot’ on a woman. But first, you are going tell **everything** , Mr. Thomas.”

Wheezing now, he tried to focus on his ‘angel of death’, to glean who she was, when she quickly and with deadly accuracy moved the knife again, but the pain and the knowledge was so horrible that he could only let out a silent scream. “You have exactly 2 minutes to tell me everything. Who sent you and why her organization put out a kill order?”

Then Nate did something he thought he’d never do once he passed the age of puberty, he cried.


	10. Chapter 10

_One week earlier_

Miranda tiredly slid her coat off of her weary frame, wondering yet again, how long she’d be able to do this. Orlav was truly an unpleasant experience. One in which she realized she’d have to move up her timeline for her last operation, to avoid his suspicious tentacles. As she proceeded into her bedroom, clothes trailed in her wake, until she stood naked before her vanity in her bathroom.

She stood unashamed before the mirror; alabaster, womanly curves, and muscles shaped from hours of covert training in an array of fighting disciplines. It was covert mostly because most of the male instructors were either hesitant in training a woman &/or disdained over training women. One such instructor was ordered to train her and when her lessons were complete; she snuck into his bunker, and slit his throat. No longer would he be a general menace to the women under her department.

Full, slightly heavy breasts still stood taut, with little give, capped by light-pink nipples, the color of cotton-candy. Slightly broad, sleekly-muscled shoulders, and a long graceful, neck, swept up to a determined jawline. Tousled, light-blonde, now quickly turning silver hair, and icy-blue eyes, gave her a Teutonic look. However, aside from obsessively ensuring she looked her best, despite The Party’s mission to out-dull everyone, Miranda wasn’t really interested in what people thought of her looks. She was aware that they’ve been quite useful in getting her what she wants. She fingered the scar on the side of her left breast; a reminder of why this plan was put into motion so long ago.

Finding the impressive steel-will that had always served her well, she shrugged off self-defeating thoughts, and turned on the shower. She listened as the ancient pipes grinded and shuddered to expel, hopefully, hot water.  She padded quickly into her bedroom to retrieve the debugging equipment, before heading back into the bathroom. After a thorough scan, ensuring the room was secure, she got into the shower, tapped on a series of tiles, before one popped open. Inside, rolled up in protective plastic was a series of specially-made, heavy vellum paper. On it were a series of codes that she developed, specifically for her-eyes-only.

What she read in the first few lines sent her perfectly-manicured eyebrows towards her hairline and caused her eyes to narrow in some unnamed emotion. The Tombs Director, Michael Kurran placed a ‘kill order’ on Andrea Sachs as a result of the O’Nichiren House incident. Even worse they dishonored her even further by sending Nate Thomas to be her executioner. Which led to the question of how her Andrea knew about the meeting at O-Nichiren House? And why would a low-level meeting between a KGB asset or more accurately, Miranda’s asset and the yakuza, interest an American intelligence group? Granted all of Miranda’s meetings were secret, off-the-books meetings, no matter how low-level, were carefully planned and executed for an important end-game.

Operation Moonstone.

But first, there was the matter of an irritating, American agent. Since she was planning a covert trip to Japan, perhaps she’dstretch her… operative wings. A slight curl to her lips and a glint in her eyes would have worried any of her staff had they been witness to it. It usually meant someone was about to meet an unfortunate end. 

**

When Andy called in following a day of badly-needed rest and meditation, she’d been shocked to learn that Nate Thomas had turned up dead. Apparently there were “reports” of a geisha nearby, but that’s been unsubstantiated. While Andy didn’t care for Nate (any stronger emotion meant she’d dedicated more thought about him than she had time or desire for), she could only surmise that it was bad joss that inevitably caused his death. But the bigger question and one Joan couldn’t answer was: what was Nate doing in Japan? When she pressed Joan about his presence, her mentor smoothly evaded the question, and diverted the direction of the conversation. But Andy was an expert for listening to what wasn’t said.

And something told Andy that The Tombs might be compromised. It made sense when she considered the O-Nichiren House debacle. Those explosions appeared to of been waiting for them, for her. If Bliss hadn’t thrown her body over Andy’s, she’d be just as dead as her. Swallowing down the hot boil of grief threatening to engulf her, she contemplated her next action. Combined with this latest news about Nate and the intel Kaio provided about the Soviets being in Tokyo, didn’t bode well. The Russians stuck out like a sore thumb, clearly they weren’t going for discretion, if the smattering of Russian she could hear from the black Mercedes idling a few cars back, was any indication. Not very smart goons either; the window was down to allow the smoke from cigarettes to leak out, but it also allowed other sound to escape.

She wondered if she should approach and disable them. She’d have to be careful because like most Soviets, subtlety tended to get lost—which meant guns.  In addition, someone, perhaps one of them (although doubtful) had killed a highly-trained operative, one whose specialty was assassination. And it all happened the moment she stepped into Tokyo. Suddenly a light, floral scent, with spicy notes wafted into her nose. At first Andy thought it was one of the thousands of Japanese crowding her as they went about their business. But as the smell became faint, she immediately turned her head to follow it and saw a flash of silvery-blonde hair, that was swallowed up the by the coming wave of human pedestrians.

Following instincts ingrained into her, she discretely sniffed the air, and started to follow.


	11. Chapter 11

Seeing Priestnicov live and in-person, left her ill-prepared to deal with the consequences of her surprisingly strong emotional and physical reaction; she was stunning. Her pictures didn’t do her justice. And for just a moment, Andy wondered when they finally have their inevitable physical interaction, would she be able to follow-through? Would she pause for a mili-second, precious seconds in their line of work, as she looked into those glacially-gorgeous, blue eyes – enough time for her nemesis (although that word didn’t sound quite… right), to render her incapacitated, if not dead? It was at that moment, that Andy realized that she’d come to a crux in the road. Did she attempt to go through it or go around it like water sliding over a rock?

Shaking her head, Andy wanted to follow her, but she had other urgent business to attend to, because she instinctively knew that they’d be meeting again. _Soon._ Turning, she trotted down the street until she came to the pristine and eerily polite subway station. The subway attendants, wearing pristine white gloves, politely directed traffic, as Andy carefully and unobtrusively slipped onto the sleek train. The quiet, rhythm of the tracks, and almost minimal noise, combined with a lack of sleep, healing injuries, lulled Andy to a light sleep.

It was the noise that woke her. A light, muffled sound that stuck out among the ambient; most of the passengers had gotten off further back so that there were only a few people left on her train. Like an animal who scented danger, Andy stilled, _listening_ in the way she’d been taught, and when her stop came, she smoothly rose from her seat, to quickly slip out onto the platform.  Andy carefully watched and listened for the unusual sound that had fully awakened her or for anyone following her. It was dark, but that didn’t stop her from seeing a woman standing nearby, supposedly reading a newspaper, near one of the lights that lit up the platform, or the light, padded feet that indicated some kind of animal; a dog most likely.

It was her feet that gave her away. Instead of the stylish footwear found on many of Japanese’s young, she was wearing special-soled, black shoes that split the big toe from the rest, giving the wearer excellent heel-to-toe coordination. On an assassin, it made them particularly dangerous and fleet-footed. The slight whistling sound alerted Andy to the attack. Ducking and rolling, she looked up to see that the newspaper-reading woman had moved and was now facing her using a specialized blow-dart gun. In Japan that could only mean one thing: the poison of the Pufferfish or _Fugu_. Intensely toxic, yet some parts of the fish were a delicacy and can only be handled and prepared by licensed chefs. The poison -Tetrodotoxin is up to 1200 times more deadly than cyanide. It begins by paralyzing the victim while they’re fully conscious, until the victim is unable to breathe, and eventually dies from suffocation. Assassins have been known to use this intensely toxic substance to quietly and unobtrusively neutralize a target, a method that was as good as any.

At the moment, none of this mattered, because Andy knew that if one of those darts even nicked her skin, she could be in serious trouble. Especially since even if she could find medical assistance, there was no known antidote, just a special treatment to flush the poison out of the circulatory system. She decided that finding some darkness to blend in would have to suffice, until she can get closer to her assassin. Hearing footsteps from behind her, she jumped off the platform onto the tracks so that she could quickly slip up under the overhang, giving her lots of shadow and more importantly an unobtrusive look to woman following her. As the woman got closer, Andy could see the little dart-gun in her hand, all black. She watched the woman, her hands wrapped in black leather gloves, carefully fit another dart inside the weapon, while scanning the area for Andy. When she saw her talking into a lapel-mic, Andy knew she had to neutralize her fast because chances are she was calling for back-up.

Entering _ba-mahk-_ once again, blocking out all unnecessary distractions, focusing on her opponent, Andy slowed her heart-rate, time seemed to slow, if it had been raining she’d probably be able to ‘see’ individual raindrops; that was how enhanced her senses became. Andy retrieved her long knife, almost like s short sword, and began to quietly and quickly advance on the assassin, wishing she could take her alive to get some questions answered. But oftentimes people in their line of work, even those who are trying to kill her, are trained to not talk.

The woman spotted her, but by then Andy was moving, fast, so that the dart whizzed by her left ear, but Andy wouldn’t be distracted, wouldn’t hesitate; with a weapon like that hesitation will be just enough time for that dart to find its target. Andy watched as the woman jumped off the platform, lifting the weapon to her lips again, but by then Andy’s arm was moving. Swinging her arm back she threw her long knife, sending it spinning in the distance to the woman’s weapon-holding arm. The woman tried to move out of its way, but the velocity and suddenness made her a step too slow. With a yelp, it knocked the blow-dart out of her hand, while slicing her hand.

When the woman started to reach inside her jacket, Andy was already in her killing zone, sending a fist to the side of the woman’s neck, her other hand moved to the assassin’s hand reaching into her jacket her fingers expertly squeezing down onto a certain spot, pinching the nerve, as Andy brought her knee up into the woman’s stomach. But by then the woman’s windpipe had collapsed from the vicious punch to the side of her neck delivered by Andy. However, Andy had moved on because those padded feet  were moving much faster, and then Andy was hit by a heavy, furry body, until she landed on her back, her forearm raised to ward off the snapping jaws.

 _Shit! Goddamn Akitas_! When trained properly, the dogs can attack without a sound. Chances are this dog wasn’t the only one. Feeling thankful that she was wearing a leather jacket, Andy knew that if she didn’t neutralize it now, she her now the dog would be joined by its friend and owner(s), and she was starting to feel its teeth dig into her flesh through the leather. When she heard multiple ‘thump’ of a silencer, followed by the dog suddenly yelping, and then going still, she realized someone just saved her. With a groan she attempted to pry the now still jaws from her bleeding forearm, while shoving the heavy Akita body off of her. Tears stung her eyes as the cool air hit her lacerated flesh, blurring her vision for a moment, sweat caused her shirt to stick to her skin, but all the sensations together made her feel mildly dizzy, her body running extra hot and then cold.

But the more pressing concern was **_who_** her savior? Shifting slightly onto the arm that wasn’t bitten in attempt to lift her body from the ground, she startled when a leather-gloved hand, held palm up towards Andy. Lifting her eyes, traveling up more black leather, Andy was stunned when they met icy-blue ones. Infamous, icy-blue eyes, that belonged to none other, than General Miranda Priestnicov.  Trying to slow her racing heart, she immediately began accessing whether she was physically able to defend herself against her agency’s most feared Soviet officer.

And Andy’s personal nemesis, plus so many other… _things_.

“Are you going to continue lying there, communing with dirt, or are you going to stand up so we can leave before more of your ‘friends’ decide to pay a visit?”

“You saved me.” Suspiciously looking at that gloved hand, before allowing the woman to help Andy to her feet, Andy attempted to wrap her head around this turn of events.

“If this is an example of your powers of observation, I fail to comprehend how you have made it this far as a spy.” The older woman rolled her eyes, before continuing to scan their immediate environs. “But of course, you are American so perhaps some allowances should be made.”

Andy looked at her unlikely savior, she made a dashing figure; shapely body hidden in expensive all-black leather, sleek motorcycle suit, including short-heeled boots, gleaming silver hair, with a dashing lock of hair falling above one beautiful winter-blue eye.

“Miranda Priestnicov,” she panted breathily.

Andy didn’t know why she wasn’t more surprised. Maybe it was because it was like some kind of tragic destiny playing out; a game was afoot and people like Andy and Miranda were simply the pieces being moved.

“Well are you coming?!” And with that Miranda turned around, and quickly moved down the tracks. Andy soon followed thereafter. The quickly found themselves in a dark tunnel. “For gawd’s sake, stop your American clunking! You sound like elephants! It is amazing you have lived so long.”

Whatever other insult she about to launch was quickly squelched when Andy suddenly shoved her against the wall, covering her mouth with her palm, their bodies brought together in intimate fashion. One would almost think they were lovers, except for the silencer hanging in Miranda’s right hand.

And the short sword that slowly slid out of her Andy’s jacket sleeve. “Has anyone ever told you, you talk  too much?!” She leaned in even closer, cataloging the feel (and responsive shiver) from her adversary. Andy almost wished they didn’t have so many layers separating them, then berated herself for having these thoughts about Miranda Priestnicov.

“Two sets of feet, coming in opposite direction. Shall we each take one?” She breathed the question into Miranda’s ear, definitely noticing the resulting shiver.

“Do try to incorporate some modicum of stealth. You Americans love to make a big splash.” Miranda narrowed her eyes, before cocking her automatic.

Andy found herself grinning, “Only to get you wet enough darlin.’”  Her fake Southern inflection was given an impressive eye-roll, before she watched as Miranda quickly and silently head towards her target. Andy turned on her heel to meet hers.

Falling into the setting, opening her senses wide, until she could hear a single droplet of water hitting the ground a few feet in front of her, Andy mentally and physically prepared for entering the kill zone. The darkness had more depth the further down she went. So she closed her eyes, and _saw_ with her senses. She _saw_ the throwing star that was heading towards her face, dipped in more of that poison. She _saw_ the Japanese male arrogantly assuming that because she couldn’t “see,” he would simply shoot in the darkness, eventually hitting her. He didn’t realize that Andy had already moved. Moved so that she now stood only a few feet from him, close enough that the short sword waiting to be an instrument of death in her hand, was moving right when he started to pull the trigger.

The bullet went wide, as the paper-sharp steel bit into his neck, severing his head from his neck. The gun was shot as an involuntary reaction as the body went into a death-shudder-and-jerk. The stench of blood and the body excreting fluids, almost made Andy gag – _she could never get used to that smell._   Unfortunately, Andy could hear more feet, meaning more assassins, which meant they needed a way to a vehicle and escape.


	12. Chapter 12

The bullet-ridden black Mercedes careened down the highway as three Black Lexus sedans followed close behind. Occasionally, one of their pursuers would lean out the window to fire more bullets. Luckily they hadn’t gotten a clue or perhaps not close enough to shoot out one of their tires. Also, it helped that Miranda handled the vehicle like a pro – _or a trained spy_ , she thought with some amusement.

She looked over at her sudden comrade-in-arms; marveling at how cool she was in a pinch. She had watched as Miranda guillotined to death, one of the assassins with a black wire, but not before he had snuck in a punch on her cheek. The bruise didn’t detract from her… almost ethereal beauty. Andy had been a deadly poetry-in-motion, disposing three would-be-killers, allowing her and Miranda some room to escape.

“Take this ramp.” Andy thought that if they could make it to **_Aokigahara Forest_** , only 10 miles or a little over 16 kilometers away, they’d have a better chance.

Without taking her eyes from the road, Miranda had heard of the infamous forest. She would die in **_Lubyanka_** before admitting that that place gave her the “creeps,” as Westerners say. “I assume you have some ideas you’d care to share?”

Known for being eerily quiet, with trees so dense that sound often got lost only a few feet into the forest, which often helped disoriented people. It was also believed to be haunted. Known as a popular place to commit suicide, forest workers often came across an occasional dead body, usually by hanging. Lined with volcanic rock, dotted with rocky, icy caverns, and signs urging people to “reconsider” or “seek help” for those considering suicide, one could often come across evidence of this tragic phenomenon; a hangman’s noose, or a small tent lined with pictures of loved ones, even a skeleton. It was believed that the spirits of the dead inhabited the forest, known as _yurei_ , the unsettled ghosts of Japan. The forest sat at the foot of the legendary and mystical **_Mount Fuji_** , enhancing the forest’s own legend of mythology and the supernatural. Andy believed that all this could work in their favor.

She suspected that Miranda had little patience for superstition and mysticism. Andy could practically see her rolling her eyes in irritation. “What we need is cover; enough cover to finish off these pricks, perhaps leave one for questioning.”

Miranda sniffed her acquiescence to the idea. “Of course, it helps that the place makes the average Japanese a bit uncomfortable.  As would any place with an unusual concentration of deaths.”

Andy ducked as one particular bullet nicked the passenger mirror. Miranda shifted quickly into the other lane, accelerating. “Surely you know how to use a gun?

This time it was Andy who rolled her eyes. “Of course. I simply chose not to.”

At that Miranda let out a delicate snort of disbelief. “Using every weapon at your disposal makes for a better agent, Andrea. Surely, I don’t have to tell you this.”

“Well, I’ve been an agent for a while now; in spite of you, a very successful one too. All without relying on a gun. Guns make people lazy, particularly agents. Because when a gun is knocked out of your hand or it jams, you have nothing to rely on but your wits and your hand-to-hand combat training. And in the field, a gun always gets knocked from your hand or jams at some point. Always.”

For a few moments Miranda said nothing. “You must think I am incompetent.” Her tone had slipped into a soft, dangerous tone. “Otherwise you would not be lecturing me on the laziness of field-work.” She held one hand up without taking her eyes off the road, shaking a finger at Andy, “No, no, that wasn’t a question.” Cutting off Andy before she could respond, Miranda continued and that was when Andy realized she inadvertently insulted the General. “Your willful limitations will no doubt get you killed before your thirtieth birthday.” She **tsked** , before finishing, “So sad. And we were just getting to know each other.”

Andy attempted to quell the seed of rage and humiliation that infused her as Miranda quietly berated her. Somehow her tone of voice made it seem worse and made Andy feel as if she were some wet-behind-the-ears agent. Fisting her hands at her side, she concentrated on finding her center before she could appropriately respond – it do no good for either of them to lose focus with three carfuls of men, who wanted them dead, chasing them.

“What no witty remark, no pithy comeback?” Miranda knew she was pushing it. But the thought of Andrea purposefully not incorporating every weapon at her disposal, decreasing her already perilous lifespan, surprisingly frightened the General: making her angry, causing her to… lash out.

She wasn’t supposed to care about what happens to Andrea; at the moment she was a means to an end. But the thought of the doe-eyes, filled with life, determination, and intelligence, becoming lifeless all because Andrea’s principles wouldn’t allow her to pick up a gun was… concerning. For now she’ll ignore further examination, there were far more pressing concerns.

Now the young woman was ignoring Miranda, which was probably for the best until they both calmed down, so that they could focus on taking care of their hit-squad. Finally Miranda whiplashed the car into the parking lot for the infamous forest, the beautiful Mt. Fuji making a stunning backdrop. They quickly rushed out, darting onto one of the paths into the forest. But before Miranda could go further, she found herself pinned once again against a tree-trunk, with Andy’s body holding her place.

“Let’s get something straight. You don’t know me, aside from some bullshit file. I’ve been fighting all my life and most of the time the odds were against me. Keeping my wits sharp, knowing that I’ve already placed a knife, a shooting star, or any number of weapons to disable an adversary, no matter how good, before they can shoot me, is what has made me a good agent. That’s my specialty; it also makes me very lethal when I do have to use a gun.”

She leaned closer, her full lips a hairs-breadth from Miranda’s. “So fuck you very much for drawing the wrong conclusions about me as an operative; you don’t have to worry about me.” She leaned even closer; her lips glanced off of Miranda’s this time, sharing the same breath. Her nose nuzzled Miranda’s, even as Andy tried to ignore the tingling sensation, as a result of the gossamer kiss, “I’ve got your back.”

And with that she quickly stepped back, loped ahead, just in time too, as they heard the slam of car doors, and voices arguing on who were going to go into the forest. Looking back towards the sounds of their assassins, Miranda turned and quickly followed Andrea. Miranda had never been more thankful for staying in shape, keeping her endurance top notch. After several minutes they came to one of the forest’s infamous caves, panting, sweat dotting their brows, trickling down their backs, regardless of the cool temperatures.

Chest heaving in exertion, cheeks stained pink, Miranda used an elegant finger to sweep her recalcitrant lock of hair aside, her ice-blue eyes on Andrea. “I assume you have some plan in place, Andréa?” She watched as Andréa unlaced her boots, removing them, her socked feet lightly crunching the leaves underneath. “Why am I still waiting for you to share those plans?”

Andy removed her _Gunsen/War Fan_ , keeping it closed for now, then began tying her hair back, as she ran her eyes over Miranda’s form, marveling how the woman could still look so good after a fight and then a race through a dense forest. “This is the killing ground; we’ll be able to both see and hear – due to the echo ricocheting of the cave’s walls from the hit-men before they see or hear us.”

 Andy held back a grin as Miranda gave a sniff of approval before she began preparing herself for the inevitable fight. “I’m guessing you didn’t earn those General stars on your back, if what I’ve seen so far is any indication,” Andy enjoyed the immediate look of indignation before it was quickly squashed back into her usual look of arrogance. “… you’ll be able do what needs doin’ when they get here.”

And because she couldn’t resist, she added, “Unless you have a suppressor, I’d advise you to use some other method of disposal then a loud gun.” The American operative watched as Miranda clenched her fists, even as the expression on her face remained unchanged except for the tightening around her lips.

“I am not inclined to bother with a response to that ‘sage’ piece of advice.” This time it was Miranda that closed the distance between them, her breasts brushing up against the American’s. “How lucky you are that you are not my Subordinate, I would have enjoyed breaking you for your insolence,” she breathed against Andy’s lips, before stepping away, and began removing her jacket.

Andy struggled to quiet her thundering pulse, cursing what was becoming a… habit, her physical response to this woman.  But for now they needed to prepare. Looking around and noticing Miranda mimicking the action, she wondered if she was accessing what else could be used as possible weaponry. While her _gunsen_ and _tonto_ /short-sword should suffice, she hadn’t lived this long without utilizing her immediate environment or having a back-up plan. She suspected the same could be said for Miranda.

She still looked stunning as if she’d never been involved in a fight with eight other combatants; probably because the silver-haired woman was just as efficiently lethal as Andy was. Andy was reminded of one particularly tense situation with Miranda on her back, her opponent’s back to her front lying on top of Miranda.

However, Miranda’s deceptively powerful legs were wrapped around the male’s rib-cage, as Miranda executed a stranglehold on the man’s neck, his face turning an interesting shade of puce, right before the General gave a twist, and with a ‘snap’ of the would-be killer’s neck, he laid dead. Chances are, when if he received an autopsy, the results would show a broken neck, a snapped brainstem – controlling the body’s autonomic functions such as breathing, and broken or cracked ribs. In short, he received a rather efficient, but brutal death.

Andy then watched as Miranda rolled her one leather pants-leg to retrieve a wicked-looking hunting knife. Andy almost felt sorry for whoever met the end of that weapon and Miranda. Almost. This situation begged a question as to _who_ and _why_ someone sent a hit on Andy and if that ‘hit’ now included General Miranda Priestnicov. What Andy didn’t know, was that the appreciation/attraction was mutual, although both refused to examine it too closely. 1) Now wasn’t the time and 2) they were supposedly infamous, going on legendary, adversaries.

As much as it killed Miranda to admit it, the American’s game-plan was suitable, considering the circumstances and their limited resources. What Miranda really wanted was her suite back at the Mandarin Hotel, a hot, luxurious bath – with a weapon nearby of course, a 5-star meal, wine first, followed by an aged bourbon. Almost involuntarily, along with the image of her hotel suite was another. Andrea dressed in burgundy-colored **_La Perla_** bra, a thong, garters, and laid out on her huge bed. Her thick, coffee-colored tresses spread out on crisp, white sheets, her doe-eyes lidded, cheeks flushed pink with arousal… for Miranda.

Without her expression changing one iota, Miranda bit the inside of her cheek, to stem her inappropriate arousal and dispel the unwanted image from her mind. Luckily their “guests” were arriving; making enough noise to sound like a pack of elephants trekking through the forest.  Not exactly stealthy; good for Miranda and Andréa; _not so good, as the idiots will soon find out, for them_ , mentally sneered the General. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *It should be noted that I changed some of the historical information regarding the Holocaust; apparently only the victims of Auschwitz were given the infamous forearm tattoos and some of the information regarding Stalin’s Anti-Semitist policies are still being debated today. Also I'm NO expert on the Soviet Union's government structure; heck I barely understand my own...lol. However, for the purposes of this story, I've used some artistic license. The infamous Christian Wirth was killed while traveling in an open-topped car and Stangl was eventually apprehended in Brazil, tried and found guilty in West Germay. He died while in prison. Or so the story goes…

Breathing heavily, Miranda tried to remember the last time she physically exerted herself this much. If the exhaustion and pain sweeping through her was any indication, it’s been a while. Holding in place the torn piece of shirt given to her by Andréa to stem the gun-shot wound she received by one of the thugs, Miranda finally acquiesced to Andréa’s fussing over her.  

They took one of the goons’ cars – now abandoned by their now-dead assassins. “Hold on General, as soon as we get some distance, I’m gonna see if there’s anything else we can use to fix you up.”

The fact was, the moment a cry echoed out from Miranda, whatever pain and exhaustion Andy had been feeling was swept away by an intense rage and fear at the thought of someone harming the older woman. She thought back to what happened earlier.

They had decided to stagger out, with a brief argument as to who would meet their enemies first. In the end, they were professionals, each understanding that they both needed synergy for them to pull this off; one job wasn’t any more important or less dangerous than the other. It was determined that Miranda’s silver hair would be an instant give-away; while Andy’s dark hair would blend in better. It didn’t mean that Miranda didn’t feel a visceral reaction as she watched Andréa suddenly dropped to her knees to use her gunsen to slice through the lead-male’s tendons along his Achilles’ heels. As he dropped, screaming while grabbing the damaged limb, Andréa was moving up to pierce the underside of his chin, blood spraying along her hand, instantly incapacitating him.

The next one was a female, equally dangerous since she had a longer reach with a katana. Miranda knew she only had one window of opportunity. Quickly and luckily with dead-on accuracy (she knew dating that circus thrower would serve her in good stead someday), threw her hunting knife with velocity and force, hitting the woman dead-center in the chest. After that it was a barrage of action, one person got a lucky punch into her ribs, no doubt either bruising or breaking at least one. Andrea had received well-placed kick to her temple, almost incapacitating her, but only left her with a concussion that Andy was certain she was feeling. Additionally, a lacerated eye-brow sent blood dribbling down her face, stinging her eye, was also added to the list of injuries.

Miranda didn’t care for Andréa getting injured, just as she didn’t care for the fact that Andréa was good. Very good; as much as it pained her to admit it. She moved like a dancer, but struck with the lethalness of a cobra. It was… very attractive. Miranda also didn’t care for this growing… protectiveness for the American. She simply couldn’t afford it. She had to stay focused, for Nigel, for Operation Moonstone, and then perhaps things could be different. The silver-haired woman had no illusions that she may not make it and that developing premature bonds could hasten her death or theirs.

But presently, she simply wanted to sleep.

“Stay awake, Miranda. Please. I can’t afford…,” blood loss can be a tricky thing and Andy knew that until a wound was properly dressed, unless the wound had internal damage, Miranda falling asleep could spell really bad news. Struggling to stay the hot well of emotion, along with the icy sensation of fear, Andy quickly applied two additional acupuncture needles along the energy lines near the wound.

Andy tried to stay focused on the road, knowing that the concussion she’d recently received exacerbated the one she was currently recovering from. It was way the road would appear to suddenly have more lanes then she knew existed or that she saw two Mirandas that clued Andy in that she too had a limited window of opportunity to get them to safety. Finally she saw a building up ahead, and with fierce concentration and a prayer to all Gods and Goddess, along with some slight weaving, she was able to turn the car onto the grass in front of the building. She simply didn’t have enough energy to actually make it into the designated parking lot.

Panting heavily, swallowing down the bile that was threatening to erupt, she shakily reached over, swept back the strands of sweat-stained, silver hair from Miranda’s forehead. “Ok, I’m gonna try to get us some kind of medical supplies or at least, some water, soap, and a bed.”

Stumbling out of the car, her arm wrapped around her side to somehow ineffectually hold her ribs in place, she shakily and laboriously walked up to the doorway where a waiting elder Japanese woman was watching the proceedings. In fluent Japanese, she made up a story about being attacked by muggers, in which her friend was hurt, and then Andy asked if the woman could assist them. The woman agreed, waving away Andy’s insistence to compensate her for her help. 


	14. Chapter 14

Groaning, Miranda started to awaken. The only sound in the room was someone lightly snoring, the scent of antiseptic, tea leaves, and soap stained the air. Before she opened her eyes, she pulsed each body part to access her body’s health, silently whimpering at a couple of excruciatingly tender spots. Miranda remembered the fight in the forest, getting knifed in the side, the gunshot wound, then pain, bleeding out in a car, before everything went dark. She knew that Andy barely fared better but had somehow managed to get them into a car, and then drive them to what is hopefully a safer destination. The dim lighting crept through her eyelashes like ice sickles, piercing her eyes, pain exploding in her skull as a result. Dark shadows stained the papery-thin walls or shoji screens around them, which explained the lighting.

But she wanted to know the source of the light-snoring. Carefully and slowly turning her head toward the sound; she was immediately captivated by Andréa in repose. Wearing what looked like a worn t-shirt and peasant pants, she was curled up in a chair, with a blanket. Miranda  sorely needed to use the bathroom, but wasn’t sure if she had the ability to do so because the moment she attempted to move, piercing pain shot through her shoulder, eliciting a whimper and a sensation of nausea. Breathless, Miranda laid still, allowing the pain to subside, feeling as if she’d just fought another battle. She decided to close her eyes momentarily before trying again, only to fall into deep unconsciousness again.

When Miranda started to wake again, she felt as if she were fighting her way to consciousness through a vat of warm taffy, blinking bleary, slightly-bloodshot blues eyes open to take in unfamiliar surroundings. A warm heavy weight laid across her torso that seemed to belong to a feminine, yet sleekly muscled arm, and a slender, elegant hand. Trailing her eyes up that arm, her gaze following up the shirt-covered body-part, up until she saw thick, dark hair tousled around feminine, yet muscular shoulders. The woman’s head was snuggled deeply into the back of Miranda’s neck, her warm breath sensitizing the hairs there. With a quick sifting of her recent memories, she found herself in the astounding position of sharing a bed with her nemesis/partner-in-crime, Andrea Sachs. Miranda noticed a white bandage peeking out along Andrea’s neck and another one along the American’s temple. Slightly shifting, Miranda took inventory of her own injuries; noting her most obvious one of her well-bandaged shoulder, accompanied by a piercing pain underneath indicating a possible gun-shot wound (one never forgets that sensation).

Her ribs were tender, a stinging pain along her back – perhaps the knife wound, and her head felt as if it were trying to squeeze its way out of a funnel, which probably indicated a concussion of some sort. Sighing, Miranda also registered an immediate need to find a bathroom. Judging by the small, sparsely decorated, Japanese room, complete with a sliding silk screen door or _shoji,_ leading out, the same material was used for the rest of the wall except for the wall that separated them from the exterior of the home. Chances are as with most Japanese homes, the home/apartment would be rather small so the toilet area wouldn’t be a long walk. Plus it would allow Miranda to assess her body’s general function; such as, being able to stand, walk, or run if needed.

As she slowly removed Andréa’s arm from her body, not wanting to wake her; from the dark shadows underneath her eyes, along with what looked like a very sound sleep, Miranda suspected that Andréa had been caring for her since she’d fallen unconscious. Finally, Miranda shakily stood, her legs felt weak, and she struggled to not give into the lightheadedness threatening to knock her unconscious once again. Once she felt steady enough, she looked on her surprising companion, knowing she could have left Miranda to her own defenses, or even killed her. But she shrugged away that last thought almost immediately. Astonishingly enough, Miranda was honest enough to acknowledge the unusual… connection, perhaps even a bond with the American.

  

  1. She only had one goal – Operation Moonstone; which reminded her that she needed to make contact with her partner soon or he’d be forced to take necessary steps to cover up their plans, jeopardizing Moonstone overall.    
  



When she finally completed her absolutions, she started her painful, yet blessedly short trek back to the room, taking in the small living area, seeing large piles of books, a neat pile of clothing, a huge wardrobe, and a steaming bowl of food sitting unaccompanied by a person. Miranda guessed that they must have stepped outside for a moment. Looking over towards the front door, she noticed the neat row of shoes, with one space empty, giving credence to Miranda’s guess about their host’s absence. This didn’t prevent her from running a quick assessment around the small adobe; exits, possible weapons, a quick perusal of mail to get a name(s) and address.  More importantly, she tried to see if there was a phone so that she could call Felix. But the opening of the front door stalled any further consideration; a small, older Japanese woman shuffled in, carrying a plastic bag.

She quickly noticed Miranda and began speaking in rapid Japanese, gesturing towards Miranda’s body, pointing towards the room she’d been convalescing in, all the while shuffling closer to Miranda. Luckily Miranda was fluent in several languages – Japanese being one of them.

“You must rest. You were very sick.” She paused; grabbing Miranda’s forearm, shifted her gnarled fingers to wrap around her wrist, pressing down. “You still warm. Your friend, she was very worried.” She escorted Miranda back into the room, noticing that Andréa was gaining wakefulness. “Now you awake I bring you something to eat.”

 While the Russian wasn’t the type to allow just anyone to browbeat her into doing something, Miranda found the small woman endearing. And of course, there was the fact that she took in virtual strangers, cared for them, all without alerting authorities. Andrea, looking awkward and uncomfortable, with a grimace shifted, ensuing space for Miranda on the bed, as the old woman named Aiko, helped an indulgent Miranda back into bed. Miranda spared her a glance and rolled her eyes in exasperation. But it didn’t mask the look of pain that flitted across the Russian’s face.

“Hello Aiko. I see you’ve met Miranda.” Andréa quickly ran her eyes over the Russian’s body, assessing the way she moved, looking to see if she re-injured her wounds.

  _For a woman who’d recently suffered severe injuries, pale, slightly underweight from being unconscious without proper food for the past few days, she was still beautiful_ , thought Andy. Tousled silvery locks, with a couple strands dangled attractively over her one icy-blue eye. She tried to mask the intense relief that zipped through her body at seeing the woman up and functioning. She returned her attention to Aiko who was busy fussing over Miranda; the only reaction was a severe pursing of Miranda’s lips. Her already fair skin had become slightly pinkened as she still ran a low-grade fever to fight off infection from her injuries.

A swatch of white bandages covered her left shoulder and disappeared into the sleeveless t-shirt; others were hidden underneath her clothes. Andy swallowed; she’d had the opportunity to become intimately acquainted with her deadly rival. While her own injuries were… _inconvenient_ , her expert use of her ever-present set of acupuncture needles, allowed her to dull her own pain in order to assist their elderly lifesaver, Aiko, in saving Miranda’s life. Which reminded Andy, it was time for another treatment for both Miranda and herself; she nodded at Aiko as she stiffly got up from the pallet to gather her kit.

Lifting her hand to hide the tiny grin that threatened to spill, she asked, “Aiko, where is your daughter, Mayumi?”

“She go to the market. More people, means more medicine and food.” At that Andy, also reached for her wallet to give Aiko additional money.  This family unit had few resources, even less since they’ve taken on unexpected guests. But she was stalled when Miranda held up her hand.

“Andréa if you could be so kind as to hand me my jacket.” Or what’s left of it; Miranda seemed to have remembered that she’d some dealings with a knife or two. It was too bad because it was one of her favorites. She saw that Andréa was about to argue. “No, no that wasn’t a question. I assume you’ve taken care of the particulars while I was… unavailable?” at Andréa’s nod she continued. “Well since I do not care to be in your debt any more than necessary, it’s time I contribute. That’s all.”

When Miranda  saw Andy’s kit, she only lifted an eyebrow, prompting Andy to explain. “Acupuncture – which I’m sure you already know, is a specialty of mine. It’s what probably saved you. And now I’d like to do another treatment.”

Miranda took in the American, noting the thick, dark hair almost tousled beyond repair, but only made her even more… striking. Pouty lips, the bottom still sporting a cut, a bruised cheekbone and a fading black-eye sporting brilliant colors, along with the bandage along her temple, didn’t detract from Andréa’s attractiveness. She too wore a similar garb of a sleeveless t-shirt and peasant pants.  But hers had crept up from her waist, past her cute bellybutton. Miranda gave mental eye-roll at using the word _cute_. She also noticed another bandage peeking out from the bottom.

“I seem to have remembered something about that. Interesting little hobby you have there.” She ignored the fact that her breath hitched when Andréa drew closer, the heat from her skin caressing Miranda’s skin. The smell of soap and Andréa’s own unique perfume permeated the air, this close up she could practically smell the exhaustion hanging off the younger woman’s frame. “You haven’t slept nearly enough, I see.”

Aiko brought in a bowl of warm water, bandages, and a bottle of alcohol – unfortunately not the drinking kind like her favorite bourbon or a single malt. Andy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, before leaning over, her fingers brushing against Miranda’s skin, wishing… for more. She was reminded of the moments when she and Aiko bathed and then tended to Miranda’s wounds. Her desire to spend more time just… _looking_ , was superseded by her need to ensure Miranda’s survival.

 But she remembered Miranda’s breasts, still taut and firm, nipples exposed to the cool air, rigid and delectable. She remembered uncovering old scars and being relieved that the new ones weren’t as numerous, or as many as her own. If she hadn’t been trying to stem to the flow of blood, she might have brushed her fingers against the faded scar along her left breast or appreciated the slight indentations of the impressive six-pack along the Russian’s abdomen. She reveled in the softness along her thighs or along her back, covering wiry muscles of steel. She also remembered that as she ran the wet cloth along her thigh, having the sudden desire to tangle her fingers in the well-manicured, dark curls cradled along Miranda’s womanhood.

But most of all she remembered the… **_fear_** of losing Miranda and wanting desperately to know why **_now_** and most importantly, why **_her_** , of all people. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Once again it should be noted that I changed some of the historical information regarding the Holocaust; apparently only the victims of Auschwitz were given the infamous forearm tattoos and some of the information regarding Stalin’s Anti-Semitist policies are still being debated today. Also I'm NO expert on the Soviet Union's government structure; heck I barely understand my own...lol. However, for the purposes of this story, I've used some artistic license. The infamous Christian Wirth was killed while traveling in an open-topped car and Stangl was eventually apprehended in Brazil, tried and found guilty in West Germay. He died while in prison. Or so the story goes…

_“Felix, your Babushka asked to see you. She is not well, so we must hurry.” Then his mother leaned down, her eyes furtively looking around her, before she refocused on her twelve-year old son. Straightening his tie, she whispered. “Grew up in Poland, your Nana. But do not ask her about that **time** ; it was a very painful time for our family.”_

 _“Mama, how come you never told me she lived in Poland?” Still somewhat innocent, his parents had only just begun to prepare Felix to the realities of living under the Party rule. Some things were better left unsaid or said in secrecy; Felix was only beginning to understand this reality._

 _“Because she does not like to talk about that time. Now off with you.” She leaned down to kiss on the top of his head, smelling of rosewater and fresh laundry, before he went outside to meet his Papa._

 _The hospital smelled of sickness and death and medicine. It was why young Felix didn’t like visiting his Nana. She’d fallen ill two weeks ago and seemed to be getting worse every day. They finally made it to Nana’s room and the smell of death seemed stronger. She looked so frail and small; completely opposite to how she was before. Nana had a larger than life personality; fearless in a country where that kind of bravery could very easily get one killed, she gave the best hugs, and told the most amazing stories._

 _Theirs was a tight-knit family; all four of them lived in a cramped apartment, filled with books, hidden Jewish religious icons, old records that played Mozart and Beethoven (and of course Classical Soviet Empire Music).  At odd times, their Nana would disappear for days at a time and he remembered his parents would be frantic with worry, thinking she’d been swept up in Stalin’s latest Purge. But then she’d show up, exhausted and weary, even sometimes bruised; she’d kiss Felix on the forehead, and then in whispered tones she’d say something to her parents that’d often leave his mama crying in his papa’s arms._

It wasn’t until he was older that he knew why.

Sitting in that hospital room, holding his Nana’s frail hand, her forearm lined with odd tattooed numbers, Nana began to talk about the time before: World War II and Nazi Germany. She’d been a celebrated artist and collector, who often threw dinner parties for famed artists and newly discovered ones, whose circle of friends were eclectic, loyal, and entertaining. Then she talked about the awful period following the rise of the Nazis; labor camps, mass-murder death squads, the death marches, and the death camps. Nana was one of the few survivors of the infamous **_Treblinka_** , a Nazi death camp in Poland.

Second only to the notable Auschwitz in the number of murders, unlike Auschwitz, it had no labor camp, no administrative offices, or “research” facilities: its only purpose was for the immediate torture and “liquidation” of Jews or any other “enemies of nature.” She then talked about a _Great Escape_ ; Nana was only one of seven total survivors from _Treblinka_. It would be these singular and horrible events that would stoke the fires of vengeance and justice like acid in her veins, for many years to come.

So it had been easy when two men approached his Nana in a café in Kalingrad while she’d been studying at the scientific university. The Nazis were surprisingly adept at hiding the evidence of certain parts of the Final Solution; in particular **_Operation Reinhard_** in Poland. As a survivor of one its most infamous camps, a certain group of Russian Nazi hunters wanted assistance in tracking down some its facilitators. In fact, it was that these men might be hiding right under their noses, in the last country one would expect—the Soviet Union, flourishing under new identities. And on her deathbed, she made Felix promise that he’d never **Forget**.

Felix didn’t forget. In fact, once he was old enough he took up where Nana left off. Especially once he found out that one of these war criminals was now a high-ranking minister within the Party; a minister who helped secure passage of other Nazi war criminals, sending them to various _safe-haven_ countries around the world: Brazil, Argentina, Egypt, etc. This was also the part of the story that merged with Miranda. Miranda’s parents were survivors of **_Auschwitz_**.

All magnanimous gestures from Stalin and the Soviet Party towards its Jewish population, like many Russian populations eventually ended: from the destruction of the **_Birobidzhan_** – the Party’s answer to Zionists, to the arrest and subsequent disappearance of members of the **_Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee_** , along with the decimation of several Jewish cultural museums, were eradicated due to Stalin’s paranoid belief that Zionists were secretly working for the Americans. But chances are Stalin didn’t need so elaborate an excuse to start one of his infamous Purges. It was during these purges, that most Miranda’s family was killed. Horrifically ironic, considering that they survived one fascist regime only to be swept up and killed by another kind of government-sanctioned horror.

This was Miranda’s part of story, but this story swelled, grew, became more dangerous, and intricate, the stakes considerably higher when her twins were born. It was decided that to protect them was to hide Miranda’s pregnancy to the full term, secret them out of Russia, and into the West. So she struck a deal with the **_Mossad_** ; one she was more than motivated to complete, yet desperate enough to see it through. This became Miranda’s entire adult life.  


	16. Chapter 16

Miranda gripped the steering wheel with ferocity; gritting her teeth, striving to calm the turbulent emotions threatening to storm her vaunted control. The General couldn’t believe she allowed herself to give … into an indulgence that could very well screw up everything she’d worked so hard for. Sneaking a look at the American operative, a muscle bunching in her cheek was the only sign of her own turmoil, as Andréa continued to look out the window, her body language closed off and unapproachable. Mentally sighing, Miranda supposed it was due to the verbal flaying she subjected the younger woman to right before they made their trek back to Tokyo. 

She thought back to that intimate moment that had ruined everything.

 _There was certain bond shared between two warriors who’d recently survived a battle together. Particularly, if both warriors sustained injuries that required a level of vulnerability, even defenselessness during the recovery process. Upon her final acupuncture session, at Andréa’s insistence, Miranda stretched like a cat, the brief soreness along her shoulder and back only causing minute pain, accompanied by some itching –an indication that her wounds were healing. Remarkably, she felt… content; a sensation she’d rarely experienced given her background. But she knew that contentment had to do with a chocolate-haired, American operative._

 _However simmering beneath that contentment, was an aching desire that had grown sharper the more time Andréa spent tending to her wound or spent any time with her hands on Miranda. Miranda had grown to love those hands; hands that were known to be instruments of death, they could also be gentle, even tender. And then there was the way Andréa **looked** at Miranda, particularly when the brunette wasn’t aware that Miranda knew she was looking. Sometimes the look of hunger and longing would catch Miranda breathless. _

_She couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at her like that. Lust, yes; but not the way Andréa roved those deep, dark, coppery-colored eyes along Miranda’s body, following her hands as she massaged some ache or strained muscle in the Russian’s body. Then there were the moments when they’d drop all pretenses; a moment when they’d lock eyes: icy-blue and chocolate-copper eyes. The sensation of her abdomen tightening, her sex clenching, becoming damp, swelling, and then tightening in want that accompanied that shared moment was… beyond anything Miranda had ever experienced._

 _These experiences were illuminated when Miranda found herself almost involuntarily, pressing her body into, using her hand to brush aside her hair so that she brush her lips along the American’s shoulder. The American had just stepped out of her shower, with a worn towel around her body, hair slicked back, skin glistening wet and pink, pouty lips looking more kissable than ever. Miranda slowly and hungrily ran her hands up from the sides of the American’s hips, slowly along her abdomen, brushing along the sides of her tantalizing breasts, until she was touching wet skin. Miranda noticed the goosebumps breaking out along her skin; up until her hands cupped Andrea’s strong shoulders._

 _“Miranda… what are you doing?” Andy rasped. After all she was very aware of her body’s seemingly involuntary reaction to Miranda._

 _The Russian gently turned Andréa around to face the wall and then stepped into the brunette’s back until she was flush against Andréa’s body. “Unless I’m mistaken or I’ve lost my ‘touch,’ I should think it would be obvious.” She began nuzzling Andréa behind her ear, she deeply inhaled Andréa’s scent; knowing that the smell of cinnamon and vanilla would be indelibly imprinted in her memory._

 _Suckling the brunette’s earlobe, enjoying the way the younger woman shivered in response, Miranda began peppering open-mouthed kisses along one shoulder. Little did she know that Andréa was currently undergoing an intense battle with herself. Sleeping with the enemy was a very bad idea. Sleeping with Miranda, considering the increasing emotional connotation Andy was beginning to associate with the silver-haired vixen, Andy knew would only lead to disaster. When Miranda began suckling on her pulse-point, causing Andy’s hips to involuntarily jerk and her knees to weaken in response, Andy knew she had to put a stop to this before things got too far._

 _But her intentions were sidelined when a slightly calloused palm gently cupped her breast; fondling and kneading it. Long, elegant fingers began tugging on an achingly rigid nipple, eliciting a moan from Andy. Ferocious need swelled up from between her thighs to her chest, hardening her nipples, eliciting a spreading flush upwards, pinkening her skin to. Miranda’s hips snuggled into Andy’s bottom, silvery curls lightly scratching against the brunette’s sensitive skin. Andy’s head tilted back onto Miranda’s shoulder; allowing the Russian access to the brunette’s long, graceful neck and strong shoulders._

 _It was an opportunity Miranda wouldn’t allow to go to waste. Pink lips, suckled their way along the slope of Andy’s neck, until a hot mouth once again, encased Andy’s earlobe, a tongue circling it, drawing it into Miranda’s mouth. Andy’s ears were a definite erogenous zone; it was why she could feel the wetness that had nothing to do with her recent shower, pooling, spreading from her cunt, staining her upper thighs. It was why her breathing was harsh and seemingly loud, particularly when Miranda growled in her ear in as she reveled in Andy’s responsiveness._

 _In the back of Andy’s mind, she knew this was a bad idea; allowing her deep attraction to her arch nemesis would compromise her in ways she might never recover from. Miranda was a master manipulator, she was an expert in getting people to do what she wanted, and it was why as much as Andy wanted to give into this incendiary moment, she couldn’t. She had to protect her mission, her life… and her heart. Yet, even as her mind was telling her to put an end to this moment, her body had other ideas._

 _Particularly as both of Miranda’s warm, calloused palms continued to fondle her increasingly sensitive breasts, tugging on her rigid nipples, or when one of those hands smoothed down her muscled torso, over still-tender ribs, into the nest of wet curls. Andy knew if she didn’t stop her now, she would be unable to in a few moments. But oh how she **wanted**. She **wanted** General Miranda Priesticov . She **wanted** to allow the silver-head vixen to throw her against the wall, hoist up one of Andy’s leg along her hip, so that the Russian could slide those wicked fingers into Andy’s wet, hot cunt. _

_When her tongue dipped into Andy’s ear, causing her to almost loose balance as a shudder worked its way through the brunette’s body.  “Oh god! Miranda…”_

 _“Hmmm… you feel delicious in my arms, Andréa.” She began lapping her way down to Andy’s pulse point, swirling her tongue around it, enjoying the way Andréa’s body undulated in response. “I can’t wait to have you.”_

 _“Mi-Mira..anda. Please… we ca-can’t.”_

 _Sucking hard on the now reddened pulse point, Miranda decided she wanted a kiss from those very delectable lips. Making her way up Andréa’s jawline, pressing soft, suckling kisses along the way, she brought her other hand up to would her fingers in the brunette’s luxurious, albeit wet, strands. Tugging the operative’s head, Miranda managed to crush her lips against Andréa’s, her hot tongue immediately seeking entrance into Andréa’s mouth, and almost involuntarily being granted entrance._

 _Moaning, Andy tangled her tongue with Miranda’s, wondering how she was going to stop this madness… this delicious madness. When she suckled on Miranda’s tongue, eliciting a whimper from the General, it was all Andy could do to keep her knees locked. Chasing her tongue back into Miranda’s and then being treated to the same fierce suckling, before finally, lack of air became an issue. Their breaths rasped against swollen lips, their noses grazing against each other, heightening their intimacy._

 _“Miranda… pl-please. We-we can’t.” Andy swallowed hard, groaning as Miranda brushed her lips against Andy’s. Meanwhile, Miranda’s other hand, her fingers slid a few inches closer to her throbbing clit. When her thumb brushed, ever so gently against the quivering nub, Andy cried out before reaching deep inside herself to finally grip that hand to stop any further tantalizing moves._

 _“Mira.. Miranda, if…” she panted, as Miranda’s fingers attempted to wiggle out of her hold to begin another delicious assault on her swollen, wet flesh. “… if you give a… damn about… me…” she swallowed thickly, “…even just a… bit. You’ll wait.”_

 _With a white forelock dangling near one eye, piercing icy-blue eyes which had darkened to a deeper blue, stared hungrily into Andy. So hungrily that Andy wasn’t sure she even registered her broken words. But Miranda’s next words dismissed that thought. “Wait for what? We are operatives, playing a dangerous game, we may not have…another chance.”  Thinking that she’d resolved the issue Miranda bent her head to once again taste that delicious mouth, only to be halted by Andréa moving her head away._

 _Frowning Miranda didn’t like this turn of events. Miranda wanted Andréa, and judging by the wetness pooling between the American’s thighs, Andréa wanted Miranda. She didn’t understand the problem. What Miranda wanted she gets, particularly when it came to lovers. Not to mention Andréa’s bottom grinding into Miranda’s groin was ratcheting up her lust and the younger woman felt… perfect in her arms. In fact, it was taking everything she had to not simply throw Andréa on the futon and take her. It surprised her, this intense need because she often had no problems controlling her lust with her previous lovers._

 _Andréa took a moment to turn around to face Miranda. Probably a bad idea since it allowed their nipples to brush against each other, their breaths mingling, Andréa brought her hands up to gently clasp Miranda’s shoulders. Her doe-eyes pleading, intoxicating with the older woman._

 _There were a few moments that Miranda hadn’t even been aware of her surroundings, completely lost in the taste, texture, smells, and sounds coming from Andréa. It was… disconcerting._

 _She was startled when Andréa’s hand came up to cup her jaw. “We can’t Miranda. Even though I so very much want to.”_

 _The strong urge to drag Andréa’s body to the futon was ignored, instead a coldness, resembling their earlier meeting, grew in her eyes. Even as Miranda somehow, with her body practically screaming in protest, peeled herself away from Andréa. “I certainly do not beg.”_

 _She ignored Andréa’s depthless dark eyes pleading for to understand, and started for the exit. She also ignored the growing… tenderness inside her chest. Miranda’s hand gripped the handle to move back the screen so that she could leave the room, she paused when she heard Andréa once again, calling her name._

 _“Do get dressed Andréa, I believe it’s time to leave.” And with that she left her behind, not noticing dark eyes grown glassy with tears._

The memory of that moment left Andy breathless and aching. Following their departure, Miranda had been coldly polite. Until the moment they had to separate. Like something out of a movie, Andy had turned back to Miranda, cupped her startled face, and brought her lips close to Miranda’s. 

“It wasn’t the right moment because I want more than one stolen moment. With you. Even if you’re bad for me.” This time it was Andy who crushed her lips to Miranda’s. Her tongue plunged into Miranda’s mouth, twining with Miranda’s, before pulling back, nipping Miranda’s bottom lip, and then ending the kiss. 

Leaving a stunned Miranda, Andy walked backwards towards the door. “See you soon.”

 Now these next few days will determine her fate, which had now become intertwined with Miranda’s. At the moment, Andy couldn’t drum up the motivation to feel alarmed about that. Not when she had a Kill Order on her and a silver-haired vixen waiting for her. 


	17. Chapter 17

Miranda remembered when she met Felix. She’d been sitting on a bench crying; she’d found out about her missing family members. She’d been under the mistaken belief that they’d be cleared of any wrong-doing and safely returned home. Helmut Andropov had assured her of this fact. But he’d been lying and it was a betrayal that would color her existence, creating a burning flame of vengeance and quiet fury inside her breast. She barely restrained herself from snapping out at the young man, barely out of his teens, handsome, wearing some kind of Party uniform given to young recruits.

For a few moments he said nothing, until he quietly handed over a handkerchief. He’d seen her around before, quiet, intense, no-nonsense, and beautiful. However it didn’t prevent men from wanting her. She’d been tapped by General Helmut Andropov, but most people knew that he… liked his women young. Personally, Felix found Andropov disgusting and always thought Miranda seemed… lonely, something beautiful who’d been stuck in a gilded cage. He had no designs on her, but thought she could use a friend. Felix was gay, but he had to pick his partners very, very carefully because this was the 1970s, and “summer of love” never made it here. Not to mention they were still… clearing their sinuses from decades of Stalin’s rule, relics like Andropov, stuck around like shit smeared under one’s shoe. 

But he believed that people like Miranda and him were the future.

“Don’t worry, I washed it just yesterday.” Miranda lifted her reddened eyes towards him, sniffling, trying desperately to gather herself.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Felix gently smiled. “My name is Felix. I have seen you around at the school and thought you could use a friend.”

Miranda sneered. “I know what kind of ‘friend’ you are referring to and I--,”

Felix rolled his eyes. “I assure you, you’re not my type. “

Miranda frowned. “What does that mean?”

Felix studied her for a few moments, assessing, before taking a chance. “If I was not a Party member and I was thriving in the decadent West, I think one of the books you might find me reading would be… Oscar Wilde.”

Miranda’s reddened blue eyes momentarily widened. “Duly noted. Luckily you are not.” 

And from that moment on, as well as, others like it, they talked about literature, movies, food, and of course politics, which cemented bonds between them. These bonds became even deeper when one day Miranda, who’d ascended to Lieutenant, ended up saving Felix’s life from the KGB. But it was history and family where they shared the deepest bonds. Hers really began Post WWII and Stalin.

Similar to Felix, Miranda’s family was intimately intertwined with Nazi Germany, Stalin’s brief vision of a strong Soviet Jewish nation, coloring their entire adult military career.  Once Stalin came into power it quickly became known that he held contempt and suspicion for anyone and everyone; no one remained safe, not even his own trusted personal doctor. However, convenience bred lazy cruelty.  It is believed that the betrayal of Hitler made Stalin vengeful against Germany and motivated his momentary benevolent attitude towards Russian Jews and expatriates.

Miranda’s grandparents were victims of the Holocaust, her parents, whom were teenagers at the time narrowly escaped, but forever changed. Ironically sometimes life and death situations can also create love, which is what forged the beginnings of Madeline and Jakob’s (Miranda’s parents) marriage for years. They met Felix’s grandmother at one of Stalin’s early Soviet-Jewish programs. Many Jews found sanctuary in Stalin’s Soviet Union through programs like the **_Jewish_** ** _Autonomous Oblast_** program; an alternative to Jewish Zionism, allowing Jews to keep their identity to the extent that it ‘fit’ into the Party’s ideologies. Miranda’s parents met Felix’s grandmother at a group called the **_Jewish-Anti-Fascist-Committee_** , until both of their friends and colleagues started disappearing.

  _Again_.

Like a nightmare of old, Stalin began purging Russian Jews (along with many other people), from the late 1930s up until his death, including his own physician. He charged them with treason; calling it **bourgeois nationalism** , with plans to launch a Jewish state in Crimea in order to serve American interests. However, like all of Stalin’s benevolent gestures, this Jewish “understanding” was short-lived.

Like any “great’ dictator, many believed that Stalin was driven by paranoid psychosis than any real proof. Consequently, any Post-WWII Anti-Semitism had more to do with repressing any potential connection to Western Allies and their imagined attempts to destroy him and the Party, than any real hatred towards Jewish people. Small comfort though, particularly for the lost lives and important cultural documents.

All false of course. Jewish people had began to find a sense of national pride, even felt supported by a government who’d been as against Nazi-interests and philosophies, as those who’d suffered as a result of WWII.  But like everything associated with Stalin, nothing made sense to a paranoid psychopath and it was great swatches of people who’d suffered as a result; an estimated 20 million Russians. But from the ashes following Stalin’s death, grew a new underground movement. A movement that had included people like: his grandmother, his parents, Miranda’s parents, and now Felix and Miranda.

The moment Felix discovered that one of their high-ranking colleagues was “born-again” into a Soviet Party leader, had somehow managed to elude the Allies, the vengeful Soviets marching on German soil, and determined Nazi hunters, they realized that all their efforts and sacrifices were about to pay off.  When Miranda’s daughters were born, the stakes became increasingly higher, complicating matters even more. So plans became more convoluted, most of it committed to memory, with no room for error.

Franz Paul Stangl, known as the White Death had somehow found shelter within the ranks of the Soviet Party. Felix’s ambition had little to do with wanting to be an effective Party member and more to do with bringing this monster to justice. Hopefully he still had Miranda to help him execute this goal.  They believed he’d been the only one – but they’d been wrong the minute Miranda found a ‘monster’ of her own.

**

Miranda had many occasions to experience evil; an empire, like many others despotic leaders, no matter the political infrastructure or philosophies, they often became wrought with paranoia, brutality, ruthlessness, as well as, the propensity to dehumanize random groups of people.

Miranda would often wonder why none of his advisers on the many quiet evenings Stalin spent waiting by the fire, for a list of random names associated with imagined crimes against the Party, didn’t outright assassinate him. It was clear that this man should have never been granted the power to determine life and death. He simply did not have the human capacity (or the mental faculty) to do so with any level of reality. Similar to his German counterpart, Hitler.

However it was the file of a name that truly shifted Miranda’s perspective on evil. _Christopher Wirth_ , or who was once known as _Christopher the Terrible_ —not very original, but certainly apt, made Miranda redefine her priorities. She’d know that face anywhere; she saw it in her nightmares from the stories spoken about from her parents, she saw it in the files hidden in the Soviet Party’s East Germany’s Secret Police files. This was the man that killed her grandparents at the **Belzec** extermination camp in Poland, under Operation Reinhart. And it was only the fact that haggard, but vengeful Soviet troops invading Eastern Europe at the right day, that had spared her parents. Similar to Treblinka, Belzec’s purpose was simply for the liquidation of Jews or _Others_.

Empire-building was a dirty business.

Yes, it certainly had its glorious moments; the birth of a child, some engineering marvel, great Olympic athletes, or the launch of a successful, nation-defining moment – like sending Cosmonauts into space. But it was also other indelible moments that left a scar on one’s nation.  It always caught up to them at some point; like a wound that had been bandaged but never cleansed. These the events committed during World War II and following it, were filled with the very definition of evil.

 **Operation Moonstone** was Miranda’s attempt at ripping open the wound to clean it. Once and for all. Yes, to work for the very organization that had killed her immediate family was… challenging. But for Miranda it had **_always_** been a means to an end. Several monsters had been bred compliments of WWII, Stalin and Hitler were simply the most prolific.

But there were others, those who implemented and facilitated horrendous orders with glee. Others who helped perpetuate the myths of their despotic leaders. It separated them from the thugs, to something truly grotesque because their ‘acts of violence and cruelty’ were executed methodically, logically, becoming institutionalized, and without any regard for humanity. Christopher Wirth, like so many of his ilk, defined this phenomenon. The most significant difference was that he killed much of Miranda’s family and was now a Party leader.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please not that the 1980s technological timeline or phrases for computers won't match -- probably one too many James Bond movies.

Douglas Fairbanks wasn’t like most of the agents within the Tombs. He grew up in a middle class household, bordering on blue collar, family. He married his high-school sweetheart and he graduated from a state school, unlike most of his colleagues who often proudly displayed their Ivy League or elite private school pedigrees. They wore Brooks Brothers’ suits, or preppy short-sleeved Polo shirts, were often athletically fit, befitting a generally attractive WASP-Y look. Douglas was a little soft around the middle, clumsy, and unkempt; as if he spent too much time playing Dungeons and Dragons. And he liked showtunes.

However, as an analyst there was no one better or sharper. His mind worked several moves ahead; like Andy, he also had an eidetic memory. Something Andy always said she appreciated because it made him a worthy adversary for a game of _Go_. The fact that he looked unassuming and non-threatening, also made him an excellent handler. It also made him an easier target the few times he had to meet Andy out in the field, when her field handler, his superior, Joan Campbell wasn’t able to. The number of times Andy had to save his hide while thankfully few, they were memorable, and cemented a deeper bond between them.

Hence the reason why he was sitting here at his powerful computer, biting his nails, sweating, his soft body tensed under the rising anxiety due to the Kill Order on Andy. Alex Shores, another analyst had just debriefed him, confirming what he’d already uncovered within his network. Alex was the antithesis to Douglas – he fit that general ‘look’ of a Tombs agent: clean-cut, with perfectly-styled blonde hair, graduated from Princeton, his parents were upper-crust restaurateurs in Napa Valley.

But as much as Douglas despised Alex, he also knew that while he wasn’t nearly as brilliant as **_he_** thought he was; it wouldn’t do to underestimate him. He was able to use his charm and monied connections cleverly, in a way Douglas never could. Nevertheless, it burned Douglas when Alex delivered the news.

 _He’d been working, trying to ascertain the whereabouts of Andy, while at the same time try to find clues about the fuck-up in Kowloon. Kurran wanted answers, answers that would clear Andy and to some extent, his name, in an operation-gone-bad. He’d been going on caffeine, long hours, and little sleep, so his normally rumpled appearance, looked even worse, which Alex had no qualms alerting him to._

 _He looked up when the door to his office opened. He thought he’d been alone in this wing of the Tombs, most of the analysts and administrative were gone for the evening. Alex’s head peaked around the door, lighting on Doug, before he slipped into the room, closing the door behind him._

 _“Hey bud.” Doug hated when Alex attempted to be patronizingly friendly, “So you gotta minute?”_

 _Doug minimized his screen, before politely turning his attention to the other man. He usually kept working while selectively listening to Alex, as he droned on about something or other.  Alex didn’t have a handler as yet, and Doug was supposedly his superior, mostly because he had his own agent. Something he knew Alex was supremely jealous of; people like Alex believed that most things should be handed to him, mostly because he’d had a somewhat easy life. Knowing that someone like Doug, or even Andy had been the darlings of the agency was something that had truly bothered Alex. At that moment, Doug’s stomach which had been teetering on the edge of indigestion, started to feel like a block of icy cement at the notice he uncovered prior to Alex arriving at his office._

 _Alex took his time, combing his fingers through his perfectly coiffed blonde hair, sat back in the leather chair across from Doug, and then deeply sighed. “Look, um, I know these past couple of weeks have been tough for you, but I’m afraid I have some more bad news.”_

 _Doug steeled himself. “What?”_

 _An unnamed emotion flickered across Alex’s blue eyes. “Kurran put a Kill Order on your agent.”_

 _It took everything inside Doug to remain composed, when all he wanted to do was curl in a corner and cry. Andy was like a big sister to him. But he was a professional. “Because of the Kowloon incident?”_

 _Alex shook hi s head. “No. there’s a mole inside the Tombs and he thinks it’s your girl.”_

 _Doug frowned. “Based on what? Because she survived?”_

 _This time Alex frowned. “No… while I can’t be sure, I think it came from a reliable external source.”_

 _“They have to have more than that. Andy has given so much to this agency, they have to…”_

 _Alex looked at him pityingly. “Come on Doug. You know better.” He steepled his fingers, trying to hide the sheer feeling of elation at this latest development. A development he knew was coming. “Chances are there was something else. Something internal that confirmed it.”_

 _Alex greedily watched Doug try to control emotions that were threatening to swallow him. He slowly stood up, buttoning his suit jacket, and looked down on Doug’s head. “I think Campbell will be by to see you soon.” He patted Doug’s shoulder before walking towards the door. “Sorry bud. You had a good run, but order are orders.” As he opened the door, he paused, “Why don’t you go home and get a shower and some sleep? Things are out of your hands now, so you might as well take a break.” And with that he happily closed the door, leaving Doug to his misery._

Doug was a patriot and he was a true believer in rules; Kurran believed that Andy somehow broke the rules. So it’ll be up to Doug to help execute the Kill Order, even if every instinct inside him believed that Andy was innocent. So he either had to prove it before she was killed or end up living with his greatest disappointment.

***

Michael Kurran enjoyed a good scotch. Throw in an excellent Cuban cigar and his disposition will often improve. At the moment, he’d just finished both and was currently in the bowels of the Tombs, which looked like a huge labyrinth of white medical labs. His wing-tipped shoes struck a cacophony of sound along the pristine floor. He finally came to a door, punched in the security code, allowed a moment for a retinal and finger scan. When the panel cleared him for access, the chrome door silently slid open and he walked into the room. Alex Shores sat smugly in a chair, holding a file.

Kurran barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He hated this pansy, kiss-ass, but he was useful. For now. Campbell believed they needed to keep their suspicions about Shores, yet reluctantly backed-off after receiving the incriminating information about her operative, Andy Sachs. Kurran supposed Joan was off licking her wounds somewhere. Kurran settled into a chair, held out a hand for the file in Shores’ hand, his beady eyes narrowing even further at the blonde-haired man.

“Something on your mind Shores?” For a moment, Kurran fantasized snapping this jerk’s neck – nothing like snuffing the life out of someone with your bare hands.

 It separated the men, or in Andy Sach’s case, or women, from the pretenders. You learned to appreciate humanity when you’ve been directly responsible for exterminating someone’s life. Something Agent Shores was unable to comprehend and in Kurran’s estimation made him a little less weak in his eyes. He often pretended that he had what it took to be a field agent, but Kurran couldn’t be sure that Shores wouldn’t cry over a shaving cut.

Alex smoothed his palms over the creases of his well-pressed slacks, before standing up. “As you can see, someone from the Tombs leaked information to General MirandaPriestnicov. A cipher was intercepted on the way to Sachs prior to the Kowloon incident.”

Kurran frowned as he read over the file, noticing the blacked-out lines; the messages were hand-written. He frowned even harder as he noticed… _something_. Ignoring Shores, he looked closer, not noticing as the blonde male moved closer, his hand reaching into his pocket. But when he looked up, he was startled as realized that Shores was too close.

Kurran’s eyes flitted to Shores’ hands and then he was moving, but it was too late.  Even though Kurran managed a straight-armed punch to Alex’s stomach, almost making his drop the needle, the analyst managed to hold onto the instrument. An awkwardly jerking motion somehow allowed Alex to plunge the needle into Kurran’s neck, while he gasped for air.  Alex’s other hand tried to peel Kurran’s fingers from digging any further into his forearm. He knew he’d have a bruise as a result; Alex stared into Kurran’s eyes. “This is what happens when people underestimate me.”

“Wha-wh-… are… YOU! You’re the trai…” as voice died out as the poison moved through Kurran’s system.

As those beady, blue eyes dimmed, Alex leaned closer, greedily watching as the life drained from his face. “And here you thought it was Sachs. She was a part of my problem. You’ve just become the solution.”

Once the last twitch ended, Alex, breathing heavily, quickly yet with some fumbling took out the needle, and deposited in his pocket. He then shoved the chair with Kurran in it, near the computer console. After punching in a few keys until he pulled up the page he needed, Alex then forced Kurran’s thumb for scan into a high security clearance-only sub-page. Hauling the dead weight of Kurran closer to the computer’s camera, he held open one of Kurran’s eyes before the page let him further into sub-pages. Clicking through several commands, he finally found what he needed.

Nodding to himself with satisfaction, he punched in what he’d been commanded to do, retrieved some information, and then logged-off. Looking around the room, he used his handkerchief to wipe down the room. Alex wanted to leave the impression that it was an assassin, sent by Sachs and Priestnicov to kill the director. After that, he quickly smoothed his clothes, grabbed his leather satchel, and took one last look at Kurran, allowing a sinister grin to light his features, before finally leaving the dead director behind. Quickly, yet not suspiciously Alex proceeded to walk out of the Tombs, calmly walked to his beloved 1969 Ashton-Martin, and began to drive to the nearest airport. By the time they found the body, he’d have already left the country.

Little did he know that he’d left enough evidence behind to incriminate him shortly after he reaches his destination. However, things had already been put in motion, things that might be too late to take back.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Menara Berkembar Petronas Towers were actually built in 1998

Andy carefully adjusted her goggles, centering herself as the wind whipped around her.  She was about to rappel off of a 88-story building. A gloved- hand gripped the rope, her strong legs stood on special rubber-soled shoes, while her other hand re-checked her gear and ensuring that she had everything she needed to complete this dangerous mission. In particular, that she had a small, next-generation device that stored or transferred information; a hard square device, similar to a floppy disk, yet much smaller. Recognizing that the data room which she needed to break into wouldn’t have a compatible slot to use, she had various implements to assist this part of her mission.

She was about to make both a deposit and withdrawal, all the while freezing the mainframe for 12.7 minutes. Once Andy arrived back in Hong Kong, she would immediately set out to see her Elder Uncle with the information she’d learned from Miranda. Miranda was supposed to meet her there, leave for Moscow almost immediately, and if all goes well meet up with Andy in Paris in 10 days.  That is if they pulled this off. Standing unnaturally still, Andy closed her eyes for a few moments, allowing herself to calm, become centered, reaching deep inside towards her _qi_. She knew she only had one chance for this work and a very limited amount of time to complete it. But Andy had many occasions to experience life-and-death situations; it was time culminate things.

Opening her eyes she took in the panoramic view of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. She stood atop one of the twin buildings of the **_Menara Berkembar Petronas Towers_**. Recently built, they held the esteemed record of being the tallest buildings in the world and the tallest twin towers in the world, complete with 88 floors, with the rest of the building reaching higher as decoration or held maintenance facilities. But Andy was here for one thing; their famed database room. Boasting the toughest file storage facility for financial centers all over the world, Andy needed access to this famed room without detection and this was the only way… she hoped. Chances are she would be detected before security arrived. Checking her watch, Andy re-checked her anchors and harness, she then pressed the timer to begin.

 _Well here’s to new adventures_ , thought Andy, gripped her rope tightly, right before she leaped off the side of the tall building, her feet landing on a window pane a few stories down. Glancing down at her watch she saw that she only had eight minutes and forty-three seconds. Rappelling down three more stories, almost losing her footing as the wind whipped around her, her muscles very tense, before continuing to descend once more. Andy finally reached her destination: the 67th floor. Planting her feet on the window, she reached into one of her pockets to retrieve her infra-red scope to peer through the glass for any potential security personnel. There shouldn’t be; their reconnaissance indicated that security was making their rounds at this precise moment and were currently a few doors down, on the other side of the hallway. Seeing the bank of computers, with luckily no human in sight, Andy got to work. She quickly pulled out her nifty blow-torch, along with another implement that would allow for precise cutting, as well as, for quick and clean removal of the glass. _Everything a thief could need_ , Andy mused with some grim humor.  Even though the wind was cold, Andy could feel the sweat curling down her spine as she worked.

Finally, the circle was cut, checking her watch, indicated she had less than five minutes and seventeen seconds left. Working quickly, the sucking-thump followed the removal of the glass circle. Next, Andy would have to carefully, unlock her harness while getting inside the room. It sounded simple, but with the high velocity of the wind whipping around her, shaking the rope, it had to be executed just right or else. Walking her feet up the glass pane, she carefully set both feet on either side of the circle. She’d only get once chance.

Jumping off slightly with the balls of her feet, before bringing her legs together, the forward-swing motion allowed her body to almost torpedo inside the room, while at the same time she unhooked herself from the harness, hit the ground, and rolled to her feet. Checking her watch again, she saw the countdown was to two minutes and forty-three seconds. Quickly, she reached into her pocket for the device she needed, while she searched each bank of computers for the correct one. Finding it, she used a knife to pry off the panel before searching for the slot she needed. Once she found it she inserted her device and then went over to the terminal.

When she heard movement beyond the door, she realized that time may be running out sooner than her watch indicated. Quickly she went through the various commands to get where she needed on the screen. Andy pulled out a slip of paper to type in the code given to her by Miranda. When she heard a shout coming from Andy knew her time was up. sneaking a look at the two approaching security men, she continued punching in commands, feeling her heart race, her body anticipating the fight she was about to have. Finally she reached the sub-page she needed, locking eyes with the approaching men, who were holding guns pointed at her, while speaking into their radios.

Her finger hovered over the ENTER key. “Hello boys. Sorry, I had to make withdrawal.”

And with that she pressed her finger, even as she moved low, spinning, the heat from the bullets just missing her neck. She sprung up, her palm pressed outwards, smashing into one of the men’s sternum, even as her leg shot out crashing into the knee of the other male. Before both men could overcome their mutual pain to bring their gun into focus, Andy had already swept both weapons aside, before landing a fist-punch into the Adam’s Apple of one guy, spinning as the edge of her other hand slammed into the nose cartilage of the other assailant, completely incapacitating both men.

Andy knew she only had seconds to grab the disk and escape. She already heard feet running towards the room. Turning, she ran over to the banks of computer for the disk. Checking her watch, she almost breathed a sigh of relief – the allotted time needed to both launch the extraction and virus: the extraction being monied-accounts, along with names, the other was a virus that essentially shut down all Hong Kong and British financial trading for 12.7 minutes.

The results will be catastrophic for some, beneficial for others. Miranda hadn’t really clued Andy in on the players affected, something Andy planned on rectifying… if she made it out of here. Reaching for the rope, she managed to connect it to the harness, as more men poured into the room. Bullets started to rain near the glass breaking it even more, but also making it more dangerous for Andy because of all the now jagged pieces. A man began barking orders, stopping the bullets. Andy supposed it was because he didn’t want them to damage the computers with their lousy shooting.

But Andy had a logistics problem: she had to somehow swing out, rappel over, and then go up towards the bridge that connected to two towers. All without getting hit by bullets or someone managing to cut her rope; but then she had a crazy idea. _This what she gets from watching one too many James Bond movies_ , Andy internally griped. As she hid behind one computer console, she sighted her eyes on a console, the wall closest to it, and the cautiously approaching security; Andy calculated. Once she decided on an approach, she mentally prepared herself once again, cursed Miranda, and then counted down from three. 

Gripping the rope, she re-attached it to her harness, took a deep breath, and then began to run towards security. She startled them enough for Andy to leap, plant both feet in the nearest one’s chest, used the momentum and the man’s chest to keep in the air, spring off the designated console, and then somehow dive through the window.  All the while the ‘human springboard’ fell back into his comrade-in-arms knocking a few of them down, and even if a two of them managed to get off a few shots, Andy was already airborne. Albeit slightly nicked from getting scratched from a jagged piece of glass in the window. For a few moments, Andy was weightless, high above the ‘tiny people and objects’ far below.

Finally when gravity caught up, Andy began to drop, but then she remembered that she didn’t really account for this part. She braced herself for what she was sure would be a nasty impact. The good thing was that it was coming fast, barely missing the whizzing bullets. Widening her legs, Andy tensed her ankles until the balls of her feet were pointed. Luckily her feet hit the glass, shuddering the glass pane, she began to run sideways. One bullet whizzed by so close that she felt it singe her ear. She began to run faster.

When she finally reached the bridge connecting the two towers, she then pushed off; once, twice, and the third time was a charm. She barely landed onto the walk-way, sliding until she almost fell off, her feet dangling more than 1483 ft (452 meters) in the air. Panting hard, Andy looked up, saw more security running inside the walkway towards her. But now they were too late. Grabbing the pack left for her, she situated it on her back, and then took a leap of faith. 


	20. Chapter 20

Joan barely restrained herself from running. Currently she was heading towards the carefully maintained crime-scene of Michael Kurran’s body. She’d already attended a high-level security clearance meeting that contained some of the most important players in NSA, CIA, and other federal security officials. Michael Kurran had been an institution; to know that they’d been infiltrated enough that he’d been killed on his own turf was raising serious alarms. Alarms that included… Andy Sachs.

But Joan instinctively knew something didn’t add up. Being the only woman in the room meant she was often dismissed while all the men argued, yelled, even resorted to an occasional name-calling while she reviewed the evidence, and quietly began to plan. At the moment, whoever used the computer console within the room, using Kurran’s biometric identification, cleverly implanted enough information that would lead to Andy Sachs.

However, it all appeared too…   _perfect_. Intelligence work was messy and convoluted; nothing about the “proof” on Sachs reflected that. When she finally reached the room, the various crime scene analysts paused as she entered.

“Clear the room for few moments,” she barked. She watched the technicians scrambled to leave.

Joan may be a woman in a very male-dominated environment, but she’d been Kurran’s right-hand. Now she was the Director for intents and purposes until they named a permanent replacement. It was Joan’s hope that if she cleared up this mess, she’ll find a formal, more permanent offer sitting on her desk. Carefully scanning the room, looking for any discrepancies, Joan slowly moved about the room; opening drawers here, carefully running her fingers along the underside of a cabinet there, until she came to the computer console. She planned on having Fairbanks rifle through the system since that was his expertise. So far, he was her only ally: Operation Rabbit Proof to save and clear Andy’s name – and by extension, clear their entire team of any sloppiness or even treason.

When she turned from the console her eyes lighted on something. Something stuck out - in a purely white room, peering closely, Joan bent down to get closer.  It was near the chair where Kurran’s body was found. A hair - **_blonde_** hair. Kurran had dark hair.

“Greeley! Get in here and bring a small evidence bag,” she ordered. 

 

****

Miranda nodded to herself in satisfaction. She’d read many files about Andréa’s Elder Uncle Three Oaths Chung and she had to admit: he certainly surpassed her expectations. As for Three Oath’s opinion of Miranda, the fact that she was beautiful only enhanced his own opinion of her. But like a beautiful viper lying in wait, it wouldn’t do to underestimate her. Particularly after her…  earlier _introduction_ to four of his security men. Knowing that he was well-guarded and time was of essence, Priestnicov had snuck onto his boat, moved through walkways like a silent predator, taking out any men in her way. The splash of someone being tossed overboard alerted Chung to an unwanted presence. By the time he grabbed his gun and opened his door, she stood lightly panting, holding a knife at the neck of one of his men.  She held out a rolled up piece of parchment as a cautious act of surrender – a message from his Younger Niece, Andy.

Sipping the fragrant tea served in the delicate, fine-boned, ceramic tea cup, Miranda appeared relaxed, if a tad bit exhausted, if the heavy weariness echoing in her eyes were any indication.  She steadily watched, lounging from across the older Chinese male. _However, his age didn’t prevent him from already propositioning her earlier_ , sarcastically thought Miranda.  They’d already spent some time engaging in small talk and game of **_Go_** while they traveled on Three Oath’s private jet to Malaysia. At the moment, they were waiting for successful confirmation from Andréa regarding her mission at in the Chairman suite; an expensive, luxurious suite at the Westin, one of Malaysia’s exclusive hotel-casinos.

Before she had been pacing in a pair of brand new Pradas; barely restraining herself from wringing her hands in anxiety, as she waited for Andréa to complete her mission. When one of Chung’s men walked into the room to hand an envelope to him, Miranda could feel her heart race as she carefully watched his reaction towards the contents.

Without looking up from the sheaf of paper in his hand, Chung stoically released the breath he’d been secretly holding. “You may relax General. As predicted, things are now beginning to fall into place.” He handed over the paper.

Greedily reading the words on the page, it was all Miranda could do to not show any weakness by tearing up in front of Chung. Now she could complete the final stages of her plan. By now Felix will have been alerted that not only was she alive, but that he could begin the final phase. Now it was her turn to do something foolishly dangerous, but necessary. Go back to Moscow. By now, certain… people knew she was onto them and were more than likely either trying to do damage-control -which meant hers’ and Felix’s certain deaths. Or they were trying to escape the country, no doubt to join their ‘brethren’ somewhere in South America.

One significant chink in their plans was the missing money. The shark-smile that slowly grew on her face, made Three Oaths slightly uncomfortable. In his line of business, when a female gave off a smile like that it usually spelled trouble for whomever had the misfortunate to be nearby.

“The gods are smiling on us, General Priestnicov. “ He thought about the new bank account with enough zeros to buy a small country.

Miranda wrote some numbers on the paper and stood up. “Those are the accounts to disperse the money.” She narrowed her gaze on him, her icy-blue eyes pinning him place. “I trust that you will be satisfied with your compensation.”

Nodding, Three Oaths stood up, holding out his hand. “It has been a pleasure General. May the gods continue to find you in favor.” When their hands clasped, he leaned in slightly. “I also trust that you will be very careful with my Younger Niece’s heart?” This time it was Chung that let out a shark smile.

Raising one perfectly-manicured dark eyebrow near the ever-present dangling forelock of silvery-blonde hair, Miranda simply grinned. “Perhaps you’ll consider a visit to New York in the future?”

His grin became softer, his message had been received. “Perhaps.” 


	21. Chapter 21

Felix knew he only had moments to spare before Alexi Kurylenko arrived, no doubt with KGB officers. He never traveled without them and he’ll be wondering why Felix was in his office. But in order for this to work, Felix had to finish. In fifteen minutes he’ll be meeting up with two men at a street vendor cart. That is, if things went well. Quickly he pried loose the hidden panel of wall, using pressure-sensitive equipment, he began cracking the safe.

Sweat began to coat his back and neck, causing his clothes to stick to his skin.  He had to steady his trembling fingers in order to keep working, even if his heart threatened to burst from his chest as it thundered away. But if he found what Miranda suspected, then everything will begin to fall into place. Finally the safe clicked and when he opened it, there sat an aged mahogany box. Moving a set of papers and a folder out of the way, he carefully extracted the box. Placing it on the desk, he immediately began working on the delicate lock, popping it open. He took a few precious moments to collect himself.

So long. This plan had been in the works for so long; started by his Nana and her colleagues, followed by Miranda’s parents, and now hopefully their children were about to see their results of their sacrifices. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Felix opened it. The inside of the box was lined with red velvet and in the middle sat a ring box. Felix was suddenly overcome with emotion that he desperately tried to stifle. It wouldn’t do to allow tears or weakness to line his face if he were caught leaving Alexi’s office. Picking up the box, he opened it and saw exactly what he expected. Now he had to wait for Miranda.

 

****

Alexi Kurylenko sat across from Grigory Olav. Olav sat smoking his cigar; a bluish-haze surrounded the immediate area. Alexi once again, marveled how well Olav made the transition from one paranoid psychotic to another, and what a… challenge it’d been under the newer, kinder Soviet Union (kinder meaning Post-Stalin). A Soviet Union teetered on the edge of change; the kind of change that could be potentially dangerous for two men like them. But while Alexi could once again, simply ‘reinvent’ himself elsewhere, Olav was a military man; better suited to structure, stringent rules and conduct of behavior. Once he supplanted himself in that system was when he became his most… creative.

Two men connected by a history, who’d been allowed to reconstruct their lives in the least likeliest of places.

However, at the moment they were currently assessing their position. Alexi’s assistant urgently knocked on the door of his study, at the same time the phone rang, and Olav began yelling obscenities over the line. It took a sharply-worded reminder of caution before Grigory calmed enough to tell him that the secret fund they’d accumulated since WWII had somehow _disappeared_. In addition, a visit by Vasily Andropov, Miranda’s 2 nd in command at the KGB, paid Grigory a visit earlier. Apparently a code had come into his position about a place called Treblinka. Needless to say, when Alexi heard this, it was all he could to stifle the icy knot of dread curling in his stomach. One of them needed to remain calm, to plan, to find out **_who_** was responsible. 

Although both men already had a suspect; Grigory tended to point towards MirandaPriestnicov, Alexi thought it was more than likely Felix Vyshinsky. A discreet security detail had been trailing Miranda since she left the country. They hadn’t checked in for a week now and their last contact was from Japan. But Alexi had already sent out more agents. He suspected Miranda had had something in play long ago. It was why he he’d gone out of his way to integrate himself in her life. While he had no oversight in her division, it didn’t prevent him from finding ways to invent and collaborate on a project with her, in which they shared co-directorship. In addition, they managed to politic Felix enough to give Olav overall lead on the project, meaning they had to report to him.

The project was Hong Kong, with the British preparing to hand over the money-making territory to China, in particular the famed financial houses that traded the **Hang Seng** on the international market, it made for a prime opportunity. It was their plan to gain a foothold in that territory, taking over two of the larger houses, while using the new funds to move their operations (military and otherwise) in Southeast Asia. Far away from the prying eyes of the Kremlin; far enough away to go forward with their _other_ plans.

But somehow those plans are being threatened by Priestnicov.

“Grigory have you deployed your agents to find her?”

Grigory snarled, “Unlike you my friend, I do not believe she acted alone. She is a woman. We have been covering our tracks for years!”

“Perhaps. But it does not preclude that fact she is somehow involved, perhaps even executed a plan. After all she is there and not here.” Alexi used to be amused by Grigory archaic belief-system, but at this moment he found him irritating. He needed him to be objective; too much was at stake, not the least of which was their lives.

A polite cough interrupted their heated discussion, to allow one of Grigory’s men to approach and briefly whisper something in his ear before quickly leaving the room.

Suddenly Grigory smiled. “Miranda arrived fifteen minutes ago, here in Moscow.


	22. Chapter 22

[Moscow]

 

Miranda walked briskly down the hallway towards her office. She knew that by now Grigory Olav had sent more agents after her. She’d already dispatched two of them at the airport. Sighting them out of the corner of her eyes, she walked towards a bathroom that she knew wasn’t used often. Once inside she quickly set down her luggage and retrieved an already prepared hypodermic needle and a specialty-made knife. Curved like an S, it sat comfortably in her gloved hand; she stood against the wall next to the door, in a fighter’s stance, and waited.

Fifteen minutes later, breathing slightly heavier, and a little bruised, Miranda finger-combed her hair, and began walking out of the airport – minus Grigory’s goons. She’d still been feeling warm from Andréa’s goodbye prior to having to deal with those agents.  The American had finally arrived at the hotel, flushed from her little “jaunt” on Asia’s tallest buildings. Looking no worse for wear, Miranda barely managed to restrain herself from jerking Andréa into her arms. But the operative had no such restraints.

_Her whiskey-colored eyes burned into Miranda’s. She dropped her bag and stalked towards the Russian, grabbed her hand, and dragged her into another room for privacy. After shutting the door, Miranda found herself shoved gently, but firmly against the door, and then Andréa was crushing her lips against hers. Startled for only a moment, Miranda’s eyes almost immediately grew heavy, falling shut, as her tongue pressed against Andréa’s. Heads slanted this way and that, teeth gently nibbling on Andréa’s succulent bottom lip, Miranda’s tongue being suckled so sweetly, until finally the need for air became crucial._

_Miranda moved her hand to gently cup Andréa between her legs, feeling the heat and dampness seep through her form-fitting black pants. Whimpering, Andréa barely restrained herself from grinding into the older woman’s palm, the tips of Miranda’s fingers pressing in slightly, knowing it wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge. Andy internally acknowledged that perhaps she wan adrenaline junkie… after all she wasn’t certain whether it was the building OR Miranda that sent her pulse through the roof – probably both._

_Maybe it was the constant build-up; after all they’ve had several, tension-filled encounters, leaving them both more than a little frustrated. Lifting her head, Andréa’s heavy-lidded gaze stared into Miranda’s._

_“As much as I would love to strip you, spread you out on that bed, you have a plane to catch.” She bent her head once again to kiss and suckle her way along the silver-haired general’s jawline. Her hands began roaming Miranda’s body, pausing to firmly cupping her sleekly muscular bottom. ”But trust me when I say I wish you didn’t have to go.”_

_Brushing her lips against Miranda’s, she continued. “Especially without me.”_

_But Miranda wasn’t leaving without sating, however too brief, the sheer want she felt for Andréa. She could probably justify to herself by thinking that the intense lust she felt for Andréa would only interfere with her mission, which could be a fatal distraction in the field. But really, Miranda simply wasn’t used to not having what she wanted, and she wanted Andréa._

_She stepped back out of Andréa’s embrace, lifted her hands to the button on her blouse, and began to slowly disrobe. Shivering under the intense hungry look on the American’s face, when she finally removed her skirt, leaving her in her garters and stocking, and thong, her blouse was completely unbuttoned, she allowed her soon-to-be lover to rake in her body._

_“I have no intention of leaving this,” she casually gestured around the lavish room, “suite without having tasted you and you making me cum.” Whatever else she might have said was cut off when Andy crushed her lips against the Russian’s, swallowing her moan._

_They didn’t have much time, but they’d be damned if they left each other without reaffirming, cementing whatever undefined bond they’d unwittingly cultivated. Meanwhile the kiss deepened, almost becoming desperate as each woman allowed the life-and-death realities of their profession to color their actions. Their tongues clamored for dominance, Andy sweetly suckled on Miranda’s wet muscle, causing her to involuntarily jerk against Andy’s body, as her own body sought relief. Meanwhile, Andy caressed along Miranda’s shoulder, down her arms, taking the straps of Miranda’s bra with her._

_Miranda’s hands were busy caressing up along Andréa’s torso, taking the brunette’s shirt with her, until she finally removed the shirt over the younger woman’s head. Once again, the need for air broke the intense kiss, allowing Miranda to take in Andréa’s body. Aside from the occasional bruise or scratch from the American’s earlier activities, the silver-haired woman appreciatively ran her eyes over the agent’s sleekly muscled body. Her hands came up to cup and mold Andréa’s breasts, her thumbs strumming erect nipples underneath the sports-bra, eliciting a whimper and gasp from Andréa’s swollen lips._

_“We need to quickly get you out of these clothes,” she snuck a glance at the clock, “we don’t have much time.” Following that, aside from Miranda’s stockings and garters, Miranda found herself perched naked on Andréa’s lap, as the brunette sat in an over-stuffed chair. It was the closest object that was suitable to their needs._

_With her legs straddling the American agent, gripping Andréa’s thighs while the younger woman stroked, swiveled, and finally probed her soaked pussy with her long fingers. Miranda’s hands tightly gripped her lover’s shoulders, no doubt, leaving bruises as her fingers dug in. Their breasts pressed against each other, Miranda’s nipples wet and achy due to Andréa occasionally peeling their upper-bodies apart to lean her head down, swirl, lap, bite, and suckle her reddened nubs. They also sweetly suffered from Andréa’s earlier attentions when the American used her hands and fingers to tug, twist, and pull on them._

_For now they were pressed together so tightly, that not even a beam of light could pass between them, Andréa’s own rigid nipples dug and scrapped her breasts, as her head had fallen back from the terrible pleasure thrumming and then spiking through her body from the combined sensations. Andrea had her free hand tangled in Miranda’s tousled, silver locks, while her swollen lips nibbled and suckled their way along the Russian’s jawline, down her long beautiful throat, until she came to Miranda’s pulse point, where she suckled hard, leaving a mark. At the same time, she added another finger, making it **three** fingers slowly plunging inside Miranda’s grasping walls, while her thumb stroked the tip of Miranda’s quivering clit. _

_“Oh... oh, yes!”  And when Andy’s fingers hit that slightly rougher patch of skin, Miranda’s hips thrusting, churning as she sought relief, she knew she wouldn’t last much longer._

_“Please…”_

_“Shhh… you don’t have to beg. I’ll take care of you.” Andrea said it so sweetly, but huskily, as if she were proposing something decadent and naughty._

_At that Miranda let out a string of Russian curse words and that was when Andréa began corkscrewing her fingers, hitting all the sensitive places in her cunt. She didn’t notice when Andréa removed her hand from her hair, smoothed it along her side, leaned back just enough to work her hand in between them._

_“Hold on tight darling. I need both my hands,” Andy huskily whispered._

_But she definitely noticed when Andréa removed her thumb only to have it replaced by the fingers from her other hand. Her body noticed when Andréa prodded, massaged, and stroked her g-spot, while her other hand gently, but firmly grasped Miranda’s clit in between the younger woman’s index finger. The beginnings of the fluttering inside her cunt grew in strength, girl-cum trickling out alongside those wicked fingers, as the other fingers pinched, rolled, and pulled, her rapidly-twitching nub, causing Miranda to cry out as the orgasm began to build._

_Wave after wave of delicious contractions clenched around the fingers within her pussy, while her clit pulsed and rhythmically jumped, increasing the sensations, so that it was all Miranda could do to not scream in pleasure. When it finally simmered down, she shivered when Andréa gently removed her fingers, more cum pouring out of her as result. Miranda had her eyes clenched shut only to open them to see Andréa staring hungrily at her soaked fingers._

_“Damn I’m sorry I don’t have time to properly enjoy you.” Starring into Miranda’s eyes, she slowly gave a long lick along those wet fingers. “I guess this will have to do.”_

_But Miranda wasn’t planning on leaving without taking out her pound of flesh – something necessary to remember the American by. She viciously ignored the knot of… emotion at that terrible prospect. She leaned over to engage another deep kiss, enjoying the taste of herself inside Andréa’s mouth. She paused to shakily stand from the brunette’s lap, before gesturing her to move and reverse their roles._

_“Now it’s time for you to have a seat. Only this time, you’ll be sitting up a little higher.” She planned on having Andréa’s cunt perched over her mouth. Since the chair had substantial armrests, Andréa should have no problems settling her knees on them._

_A few moments later found Miranda grasping Andréa’s bottom, holding her aloft, while her tongue and lips devoured moist intimate flesh. Andy’s arms strained, muscles bulged as Andy stayed upright enough, not wanting smother Miranda, even though the need to unashamedly grind herself against the silver-haired vixen’s mouth was becoming more urgent. Particularly when she’d chancd a look down between her legs, only to see those glittering sapphire-blue eyes staring up at her, daring her to cum, before  once again, clenching her eyes shut in ferocious pleasure._

_Miranda’s tongue suddenly plunged itself deep inside Andy. “Christ!”_

_Andy briefly wondered just how far her wetness trickled down Miranda’s face – it turned her on even more to speculate. Andy was an all-four-senses kinda girl; along with the taste and sounds of love-making, she thrilled over the pungent smell of aroused woman, and she craved the visual stimulation accompanied throughout. The fact that it was Mirand, seemed to heighten her pleasure even more. The delicious pungent scent of the Russian smeared all over her fingers, which she’d occasionally raise her fingers to her nose to smell, there was also the all too brief taste of her cum, her skin, even her sweat, the sounds she made – particularly when Miranda came, and of course the look of ecstasy, as well as the current look of hunger on her lover’s face was almost more than Andy could bear._

_But as much as she’d love to draw this out – after all, she’d been known to cum more than once, she knew time was running out for them. Luckily, or unluckily as the case may be, she needed little prodding from the wicked tongue working her cunt like a pro. When Miranda retracted her tongue to expertly wrap itself around her reddish-purple nub to curl under and tickle the sensitive glands, her lips suctioning, adding pressure, Andy could feel the fluttering deep inside. The older woman then brought her hand over; somehow managed to plunge two fingers inside her grasping, wet pussy, and the orgasm broke over Andy like a tsunami. Her head tipped back, long fingers dug into the upholstery of the armrest, while her hips twisted, thrusted, grinde;  smearing girl-cum all over Miranda’s face and neck.  For a moment Andy blacked-out as the pleasure tore through her. When she finally came to, she was curled up on the Russian’s lap._

_She was amazed that Miranda managed to keep her from falling on her ass entirely. Blue eyes tenderly gazed down into whiskey-colored eyes. “I think I needed that.”_

_Miranda chuckled before growing serious. “So. New York in ten days?”_

_“Make that two weeks. I have to make a… pit-stop in D.C.” Andy paused, considering her words. “Please be careful. Are you sure you-“ even though Andy knew Miranda was a professional, she couldn’t help the knot of worry, even dread over Miranda going back to Moscow._

_Leaning her head against Andréa’s, Miranda sniffed. “I’ll have you know that I have managed myself perfectly fine before we met and there’s no reason to think that won’t continue.”_

_Enjoying the way Miranda combed her fingers through her hair, Andrea brought her hands to the Russian’s arms, her eyes suddenly intent. “Miranda. Promise me. Promise me you won’t take any completely unnecessary risks.”_

_The Russian snorted. “I think we can both safely say that the only thing certain during these next two weeks will be us taking risks. They’re only ‘unnecessary’ when those risks become unsuccessful or fatal.”_

_Both women solemnly stared at one another, conveying emotions neither dared to speak; both knowing how tenuous life can be due to their profession. It didn’t help that this could potentially be the most dangerous mission either of them will undertake, particularly because they were two high-ranking (Miranda more so) agents of enemy governments, joining forces. Regardless, it was also certain that they’ll both be greatly changed before this was all over. They could only hope it’ll be change for the better._

Now, hours later, the adrenaline still rushing through her veins from her most recent confrontation, Miranda knew her timeline had to be moved up. She could only hope that the gods were smiling on her, even just a little because time was quickly running out, and she needed to be out of the country even sooner.  


	23. Chapter 23

Breathing heavily, almost gasping, Miranda stood on rubbery legs over the sink, staring at her bruised and bleeding image in the mirror. Bloody homemade medical supplies were littered around the sink and floor. She managed to get the bullet out and slap a dressing on the wound. The line of redness around her neck was painful and steadily swelling, it certainly hurt to swallow.  She supposed she could have looked worse, like the three men she’d most recently encountered before escaping. She knew she’d eventually have to get proper medical treatment for the bullet-wound still oozing blood through the dressing, on her right side. But she was simply unable to move at the moment. The body had the capacity to process trauma, fatigue, and fight-flight response before a person shut down; whether it’s psychologically or physiologically, perhaps even both.

As a highly trained operative, she was both lucky and skilled enough to persevere until she got herself somewhere safe. Felix…  did not make it and the grief threatening to overwhelm her already strained reserves was more than she could stand. Hence the reason she was standing half-naked, bleeding, slightly shocky, with tattered clothing (no doubt from her sprint through the East Berlin sewers), in a dingy bathroom. She finally made it to West Berlin, but the relief Miranda should be feeling had yet to make itself known.

Thoughts of what was waiting for her, after all these years, , extracting long-awaited vengeance, defying death, even ignoring less than unsavory conditions, was what kept her moving. The fact that she was unable to reach Andréa also made things difficult. They were supposed to do a check-in in Austria. Wearing a dark-haired wig, a drab overcoat, and sunglasses, complete with false papers which she paid handsomely for in preparation, she limped her way to a designated café, gave a signal to one of her contacts, and was led to a storage backroom, where an ancient phone awaited her. Luckily Miranda has total recall; otherwise she would have lost the slip of information containing the all-important number back in Moscow.

While Miranda had become somewhat desensitized to committing murder – one didn’t become a high-ranking official within the Soviet Union’s security apparatus without losing some squeamishness around death or murder. It was still used as a means of defense or an impromptu offense so that she didn’t _have_ to play defense. Yes, there were the occasional situations that required immediate, yet careful deliberate ruthlessness, such as the situation involving that scruffy, brown-haired assassin. But he threatened someone who’d become very… essential to her. However, in the case of Grigory Olav and Alexi Kurylenko, Miranda planned, re-thought, planned even more for years before executing her plan. She only needed one. She thought Alexi would have been the easier the target since he’d seen little combat, and similar to his position with the Nazis, often delegated his dirtier work to others.

But when she snuck into one of his safehouses, she was lucky she heard the quiet hiss of a steel wire, allowing her to get her hand underneath it, before it completely tore into her throat. Nevertheless it still bit into her throat, closing off some of her air. She used her other arm to sharply elbow the body behind her. The **_oof_** she got in response, as well as the slight give in the garrote allowed her to sweep one leg back, while turning into her assailant, and then bringing her free hand to shove up into his sternum. Thankfully the garrote fell away, but she knew she’ll be feeling it later. A quick snap to her cheek, made her immediately re-evaluate her next move, before dropping down to one knee, and giving an upper-cut into the man’s groin.

The gasp he gave was instantly cut off while he instinctively bent over in an attempt to instinctively protect more damage to his privates, as Miranda gave a vicious head-butt. His nose bursted  like a sun-ripened tomato. She knew she had to quickly get to her feet, to gain a stronger position against a much stronger foe. Even though blood spattered along the bottom of his face, Miranda could still recognize Kurylenko. However, as she stood up a suddenly enraged Kurylenko let out a roar of anger, while tackling her into the wall. He then brought his knee up into her ribs, causing her to cry out in pain.

Miranda knew that if she didn’t get out of this position, she’d be dead. As he started to wrap his hands around her throat, Miranda somehow managed to get her arms in between his and then jerked down, momentarily breaking his hold. With his arms still up, it left his torso unprotected. She managed to deliver two quick and vicious kidney strikes with the palm of her hand. This time it was Kurylenko who cried out. But Miranda showed him no quarter, not after finding Felix’s throat cut with an implement rumored have been used in one of the Nazi concentration camps.

Miranda managed to miss getting punched in the temple by finally slipping out of her vulnerable position the former Nazi had her in. They were in some type of office, because after Miranda managed to deliver a round-house kick that managed to catch the slightly woozy male in the jaw, sending him to one knee, she grabbed a paperweight off a nearby desk. Since she dropped her knife near the entrance, Miranda used the paperweight as a weapon and smashed it against his temple. Regardless of his weakened attempts to protect himself, lucky for her he was too late, unlucky for him, it sent him crashing to the floor, if not totally unconscious, well on his way there. She frantically looked around for something to finish him off completely; Miranda knew she had moments, if not seconds before back-up arrived.

Sighting her short-sword, she quickly scooped it up, only to have Kurylenko weakly grab her ankle.  Blood coated his hair and most of his rapidly-swelling face.  Jerking her leg from his hold, she gripped her sword, used her foot to shove him onto his back, and took a moment to center herself, staring coldly into Kurylenko’s dark eyes.

“Since I can’t deliver you to the Israelis, I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.” She quickly and expertly stabbed the sword into his heart. She bent down to the last words he would hear, “this is for all the Jews you’ve murdered, including my family, and Felix.” As he began to cough up dark blood, his eyes widened in surprise, right before the next round of coughing finished him. His eyes began to dim, all the while staring at Miranda, giving her an intense sense of justice and pleasure that he met his demise at her hands.

Miranda wasn’t exactly the type to gloat; she always believed that actions spoke louder than words. But she wanted to ensure that he would know it was a Jew who killed him. However she had no time to revel in her victory, the squeal of tires outside indicated she needed to leave five minutes ago.  The adrenaline coursing through her veins allowed her to ignore any aches and pains.

Grigory Olav was an entirely different story and perhaps it was his complete lack of regard for humanity, or maybe it was the sheer pleasure he derived from personally and cruelly hurting others.  It was definitely his complete disdain for women, that added up to his downfall. Perhaps he’d been so busy being a monster that he’d been unable to recognize when one finally descended upon him. When she entered the room he was hiding out in, he already had a gun pointed at her, like some kind of ridiculous, stereotypical villain from a James Bond film.

Arrogant in his assumption that he had the upper-hand and of course, his devout belief in her inherent weakness as a woman, he wasn’t prepared for just how talented Miranda was at disarming and then neutralizing opponents. He also didn’t know that she had acquired a ‘gift’ from Japan – just enough to completely immobilize a person, not kill them. Hopefully. After seeing how effective those little poisonous darts were, she decided to coat, just enough a few of the sharp implements Andréa gifted her with before they parted.

But Miranda had to time it just right; when Grigory pressed the alarm, she moved. Readying herself on the balls of her feet, she readied the weapon in her gloved-hand. She was moving as she threw the throwing star. It nicked his cheek. Unfortunately the bullet nicked her side.  More shots peppered the wall behind her as she used the desk to hide. When she heard Grigory stumbling, Miranda knew the poison was working. He fell over onto his desk, twitching. Gasping Miranda quickly stood, with some stumbling herself, holding her hand against the bullet wound. She heard running feet heading in their direction so she went into motion, ignoring the wound on her side. When two Soviet security officers bursted through the door with guns drawn, they paused in surprise.




Miranda gave off a fake, slightly embarrassed, giggle, “I’m so sorry, but we drank too much vodka and General Orlav hit the button by accident as he passed out.” The two men shared a look, suspiciously glanced around the office for anything out of the ordinary.

Taking a major chance, Miranda once again played a shameful female Soviet officer. “I would like to take him home. If you could help me take him to the car I’d be ever so appreciative.”

After some more half-hearted questions; after all the two men were used to finding drunk officers, Miranda managed to convince them to drag Orlav to the car she had waiting. Once she assured them that she was not too drunk, she got into the car, and drove out of Moscow forever, but not without the obvious physical damage, as well as some… _emotional_ concerns.

It wasn’t that Miranda believed herself to be a monster, but when committing such crimes, killing another person, up-close and personal, no matter how justified always left her feeling… unbalanced. And she’d been waiting so long. Grigory had been left humiliatingly naked, tightly trussed like a pig, and heavily drugged in secluded abandoned home outside of Salzburg. After completing her transaction, she hung up and then made another call. Perhaps the most important call yet.

Speaking fluent Hebrew, she said a few words, and then hung up. Grigory was about to have an even worse day. She wished she could stick around to see the end results. But she’d been promised that she’d be contacted once the… _job_ was completed.  Taking a few moments to gather herself, Miranda finally pushed herself from the chair, taking note that she was slightly feverish, she knew she needed medical attention, but she had no time. She knew how the Soviets worked – she trained many of them, so she knew her time was running out. She needed to be somewhere; the trick will be getting there. 


	24. Chapter 24

[Bombay (now Mumbai), India]

Andy hated wearing white in a city like Bombay (Mumbai). The sheer mass of humanity, along with the veil of gray air pollution from every vehicle sputtering diesel fuel, made wearing white a dicey proposition. India’s population, pulsing with at a billion strong, perhaps more, is often forgotten in lieu of its larger, more distant neighbor to the East, China. However, anyone visiting any of its more populated cities is quickly reminded of this prodigious attempt to re-populate the gene pool. But for the kind of work Andy does, it can be very useful – getting lost in the crowd of humanity to get **rid** of a tail, could also work against her – losing a tail completely could result in a knife sticking out of your stomach.

Currently, Andy was dressed androgynously, her head and the lower half of her face, hidden by a head-scarf, along with gauzy, light-weight pants, and a loose tunic. At the moment she was doing the tailing. The man casting furtive glances around him, clutched a briefcase as if afraid someone was going to rip from his hands at any moment. His face was red either from sunburn or the heat, probably both, was busy mopping his brow from the sweat constantly dripping down his face. Usually, he was calm, cool, and collected, but as Andy always suspected, all those years of ‘playing it safe’ from behind a desk did him a disservice. What was even more unfortunate for him, was that the person tailing him was Andy, and given that he never fully… appreciated her skills, he was about to get a first-hand taste of them now.

She’d almost feel sorry for him if he hadn’t ruined so many people’s lives. But first she wanted to see **who** he was meeting. When two swarthy men dressed in dark suits approached him, Andy was surprised. **_Mossad?!_** In a practiced move meant to contain someone, they enclosed Alex Shores on either side, taking hold of his arms, while one of them grabbed his briefcase. At that moment Andy realized she’d have to alter her plans.  She knew she’d have to intervene, because if the the agents managed to get him into the idling black Mercedes nearby, she knew she wouldn’t see him again.

At the very least she needed answers and he was the only that had them.

Quickly approaching the men from behind, she was almost startled when one the agents turned around with a gun. But Andy was already moving, she grabbed the wrist with the gun, and stepped into his body, sharply elbowing his stomach, while she pinched a nerve in his wrist, causing the gun to clatter to the ground.

Immediately she kicked it away and then just as quickly stepped from the agent, holding her hands up in a pacifying gesture.  In perfect, if slightly accented Hebrew, Andy calmly stated, “I just want to talk. Mostly to him. And after that, you can take him away.”

The look of naked fear in Alex’s eyes as the other agent shoved him into the car, clued Andy into just how potentially complex Alex’s treasonous action might be if the Israeli government was taking an interest into his activities. Closing the door on Alex, the agent pointed a gun at Andy, while checking on his gasping friend who was busy glaring at Andy.  “You can speak English, American. And why should we grant you this request? Especially after you just attacked us.”

“Well, you’re Mossad and getting in between you and your prey is a little dangerous. So I simply wanted to get your attention. Otherwise you’d be dead.”

The other agent who Andy attacked, chimed in. “You think threats will make us grant your request?! Perhaps we’ll just kill you AND your friend.”

Andy sighed – she was never good at being… diplomatic. “True. I wasn’t making a threat. If you’re after him, then you know who I am, and you know that I do not make threats. You also know that we have a leak. I’m the ‘plug.’”

The one holding the gun asked, “How do we know you’re not the ‘leak’? After all, you are a rogue agent. It is within our rights to kill you on-sight.”

“Two things: one, I plan to go ‘home’ to rectify the situation and two, not before I have proof. He is the proof…” she tilted her head in consideration, “particularly if you’re here for him.”

The one with the gun motioned with it. “Get in.”

Andy needed those answers from Alex. She guessed she now had two choices: one) take a monumental risk, get into the car, and hopefully get those answers. Or two) not get into the car, kill these agents, then be placed on an Israeli kill-list as a result. At this point, she needed the path of least resistance.

“What assurances do I have that you won’t kill me?”

The agent who she attacked simply smiled. “You don’t.”

Suddenly Andy had an idea. She smiled back, immediately wiping the smile of his face. “Sorry.” And she moved, ending with a sharp and lethal weapon at the agent’s jugular,  her body pressed into his back holding him in place. “So this is how we’re going to ‘play’ it. We’re all going to get into the car, nice n’ easy, and then we’re going to drive somewhere discreet. Everyone will have a nice sit-down while I question Alex. I share any pertinent information with you, and afterwards, I go quietly into the night while you get to have fun with dear Alex.”

That was how they found themselves ensconced around a chipped folding table, in a dimly-lit room. Alex hand his hands cuffed behind his seat, sweating profusely, and trembling in fear.  The one agent placed the briefcase on the table. Andy looked at the other agent who she now attacked twice.

“I am really sorry. But a lot of lives are in the balance – including mine.” The agent glared at her for a few moments before grunting, and turning away to grab some equipment, and then leaving the room.

The other agent lounging in a chair off to the side had pulled out a cigarette, casually puffing away, as he considered the situation. “I hope you do not mind that we tape the conversation.”

“I trust you know that if any sensitive materials are leaked in any way, we’ll know where it came from?” she politely inquired.

“Of course.” After all, he was curious too.

At this point Andy focused her attention on Alex. “Boy Alex, you ain’t lookin’ so well. Heat not agreeing with you?” she asked with faux concern.  “Well, you know how this works… oh wait, you really don’t. But no worries, we’ll fix that straight-away.”

She narrowed her eyes, allowing her anger to simmer in her bronze-colored eyes. “I can either torture it out of you – which I’m fairly certain with your lack of field experience, will have you caving even before I make the first cut. Or you can answer concisely and honestly, and this goes by fast.”

She idly checked her somewhat ragged fingernails, wondering, slightly hoping she’ll have to beat it out of him. “Your choice. But I promise you’re not leaving this room without giving those answers. Shall we begin?”

“Let’s start simple. Why have you come to attention of the Mossad?” even though the remaining Mossad agent could have answered, or not, he decided to enjoy watching this traitorous American ‘give light’ to his… _activities_ in front of his co-agent, or perhaps former co-agent.

When Alex attempted to obfuscate, Andy leaned towards him, menace suddenly emanating from the brunette. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t clear before – you’ll only have one chance for each question. After that, things will go from zero-to-painful very quickly.” And with that, one of her hands disappeared for a moment to reach into one of her pockets, pulling out a switchblade, which she unsheathed.

Suddenly the pooling icy dread in his stomach, spread outwards, almost paralyzing him with fear. From every debriefing mission, rumors, and legends spoken about Andy Sachs, he knew that Andy was an efficient, completely deadly agent who got results. Shakily nodding his head, wanting to appear strong, but his family had never prepared him for this. He’d spent the better part of two days trying to reach his godfather, to no avail. So he went to the appointed rendezvous point and waited. All the coded messages he left were never returned.  Nothing, no one appeared to give him the life-line he’d been groomed to receive from the time he took his first steps. That’s when the curdled knot of worry started to grow. However, the full-blown panic and terror gripped him when both the Mossad agents AND Andy Sachs, the operative he burned, appeared at the same time.

Andy had gotten too close and once she got the scent of a trail, she was like a junk-yard dog looking for a buried bone.

Until these last few days, Alex had led a charmed life; secretly being groomed for a leadership position to continue the legacy his father and godfather started in Germany in the 1940s. He never used his godfather’s name because it was very recognizable in certain circles; his godfather had been Commandant at a lesser-known camp. Hence the reason he was able to escape and live undetected in the last place people would think to look: the Soviet Union. Alexi Kurylenko, formerly known as SS Commandant Franz Paul Stangl of the infamous Treblinka Death Camp, had somehow managed to escape the Allies, even by hiding, creating a life in the place least likely to find him – the Nazi’s most feared adversary, the U.S.S.S.R.

Him, along with his friend and co-conspirator, Grigory Olav, also formerly known as Christian Wirth, another infamous Nazi SS Officer, and was more commonly known as Christian the Terrible, had been collecting, using, and transferring Soviet trade secrets. Along with similar implants within the United States government, their mission was to steal these secrets for  their … friends; escaped high-ranking Nazis, mostly in residing in South America. They planned to create a new Nazi movement and government to continue the work they started in World War II. Alex's father had been a young, up-and-coming, SS officer under Stangl’s command. Stangl took him under his wing and treated him like his own son. However, Stangl was nothing if not pragmatic – he saw the ‘writing on the wall’ and made plans to escape when the ship started to go down. He also made plans for Alex’s father, hence Alex, to escape to the States. However, Alex’s father had been captured by Mossad agents 8 years ago.  

Hearing this information, Andy’s disgust and rage grew and it was all she could do to not attack him. She figured the Mossad had a much worse fate waiting for him. “Wow, you’ve exceeded my scumbag-meter expectations. A Nazi revival?!”

Needing to calm the simmering need to throttle the man, Andy stood up, and began to pace. “So what did I have to do with this? How did I threaten your ‘plans?’”

“You were getting too close. When you stumbled upon one of our people at your last operation, I knew it wouldn’t take you long to start connecting the dots. So I had to take action. Plus…,” he smirked, after years of breeding, even in the direst of circumstances, Alex couldn’t help his arrogance and hate. “You’re a Jew, I didn’t think you’d get this far.”

The rage continued to build. “You killed Kurran? And set my dantai up? You were the mole?”

An ugly laugh pierced the air. “Of course I did!” he proudly declared. “I was always smarter than you, or that bitch Joan, even that idiot dough-boy, who everyone thought was such a prodigy. He went to a state school for god’s sake!” he sneered. “You should’ve never underestimated me. You thought that because I was stuck behind a desk, I wouldn’t know how to handle an operation. But I fooled you all.”

Desperately trying to calm herself, she continued. “Who else at the Tombs had anything to do with this?” Alex was a victim of his own hubris and not nearly trained enough to fight against an interrogation. In essence he was a coward and dumber than he realized.

“Are you kidding?! Those people couldn’t wash their own asses without needing a memo first. You think they’d have the ability to be involved in something so complex, so courageous...so pure?!”

Andy looked on in disgust, taking in his lank and sweaty blonde hair, his too-red face, no doubt from the heat and probable dehydration. However his physical problems had just begun. Suddenly Andy kicked the table into the wall, and then launched a kick, hitting him dead-center in the chest. She stoically watched his body crashed into the wall behind him, the remaining Mossad agent calmly stood out of the way.

Feeling as if his chest was caving in, Alex struggled to catch his breath. He was almost positive a rib or two were broken. Andy stood over him, staring at him with pitiless eyes. “Well, at this moment, I have to part. Have fun in hell; I guarantee you, you won’t be lonely. “

Nodding at the Mossad agent, Andy made her way out of the building, and into the night. 


	25. Chapter 25

{Arlington, VA}

Balancing a soda and a sandwich, plus a stack of files, Doug attempted to open the door to his office. He no doubt, looked as shitty as he felt. He’d been working around the clock for weeks now and wondered how much he had left before he crashed. It was 1am and he had managed to get home, kiss his wife, while getting some much needed rest, before having to return to The Tombs. He still felt like he was a sleepless visitor in his own life.

Placing everything on his desk, he clicked on a lamp, giving his office an ambient light. When he heard the unusual sound, while he managed to grab his gun, but it was way too late to do anything about it. It was ripped out of his hand, followed by a hand that felt like a block of cement crashing into his nose. Immediately blood spurted everywhere, his eyes watered, as the pain ricocheted throughout his head.

“That’s for putting a kill-order out on me.”  His eyes widened as he watched his agent casually sit herself in his chair. She threw a file onto his desk.

“You’ll find everything in there. Including the mole. But I suspect you already know who it is. You won’t find him, he’s been… collected.” Doug stumbled over to his chair, still holding his nose, blearily watching Andy.

“Ho-“ he swallowed the  blood trickling unpleasantly into his mouth and throat, “how do I know you’re not setting him up?” He fumbled while searching for some tissue in one his desk drawers, cursing the fact that he’d have to change his shirt.

Andy rolled her eyes. “Doug, you’re a lot smarter than people give you credit. I think you know I wouldn’t break into The Tombs, confront a high-ranking operative, without having something to back-up my innocence. “

Even though he’d only managed to smear some of the blood along his face, he finally found some tissue to help staunch the flow. “You broke my nose!” The portly male removed the tissue from his face and tenderly prodded along the bridge of his nose, before he disgustedly threw it onto his desk. Sighing, wincing at the dull pain in his face, Doug regarded his… friend. “You’ll need to be fully debriefed.” 

He glanced at the files Andy had placed on his desk. He started to frown, only to wince at the pain the motion elicited from his nose as a result. “This is a Mossad file? Why?”

A cold smile grew on Andy’s face. “Let’s just say, I wasn’t the only person who was looking for Shores.”

Frowning, he opened it, skimmed the first few pages, his eyes widening along the way. “How did we miss this?!”

This time Andy snorted. “For the same reason you classified me a rogue agent. You had a leak that was simultaneously plugging the ‘holes’ with fabricated information.”

At that Doug looked at Andy, remorse filled his brown eyes. “I was under orders. But I… we, Joan and I still believed in your innocence. So we… delayed information as long as possible until we could prove your innocence. “

Silence met that statement. “It’s the only reason you’re not dead. “

“There’s no way you would have been able to-,“ he stopped at the look of amusement on Andy’s face.

“Really? You’re really going to go there?! That half-wit, Neo-Nazi moron killed Kurran within The Tombs, was working with former Nazi war criminals-turned-Soviets to take over prominent British trading houses in Hong Kong, thereby stealing hundreds of millions to help fund a new regime in South America, and you’re really going to let those words leave your mouth?” She chuckled as Doug’s face turned red with shame.

She stood up, walked over to his mini-fridge, dug around inside, until she found the ice-pack. Andy threw the pack to him, as she glanced at her watch. “In 10 minutes, Joan will be receiving a call. Make sure you’re ready. I’ve even come bearing gifts.” She paused, knowing she couldn’t stay too mad at Doug. She understood why he put the kill-order on her, Andy wanted to make sure he wasn’t involved, or tried to burn her in order to clean up the mess.

She sauntered over to the door. “Once things are… confirmed, I suspect I’ll be back here to meet with Joan and you. If you expect me to stay on, and I would if I were you, I’m going to want some concessions.”  Andy grinned at the look of discomfort on Doug’s face, as she blew him a kiss. “Cheer up, it’ll get better and then you’ll also owe me a drink.”

And with that Andy left, she yet another plane to catch. This time to New York.

 

***

 

[Paris, France]

Nigel mopped the flushed and sweating brow of someone he wasn’t sure he’d ever see again. He was waiting for a doctor to arrive. He could only hope that the doctor would give her something to tide her over until they could board a flight. He shook his head in worry and concern, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be infection that would prevent everything from finally falling into place; from Miranda reaching her daughters. They’d sacrificed so much, Miranda much more, and all their efforts were coming to fruition. He wanted to ensure that Miranda would be around to experience it.

He tenderly stared down at the shuddering, unconscious woman lying on the bed. When she practically stumbled into his arms at the train station, the sheer fear knotting in his throat almost incapacitated him with indecision. It wasn’t until a conductor politely inquired if Nigel would like him to call for medical attention that got his feet moving. Pulling her arm over his shoulders, for a moment Nigel was thankful that Miranda had no luggage. Just a battered tan purse that coincidentally had a few blotches of what he guessed was blood. Her blood.

Her rasping breathing indicated that he needed to get some help soon, particularly when he began carrying her dead weight as she fell unconscious on the way to the car waiting for them. When Nigel maneuvered them to the vehicle, the driver got out, and gently helped place Miranda in the car. Finally having a chance to really access her condition, Nigel loosened the scarf around her throat in order to keep her air-passage as open as possible, and blanched at her bruised and swollen throat. He shook his head in consternation, brushing a lock of silvery-white hair aside, cover-up smearing on his fingers from her perspiring face, which unfortunately, uncovered more bruising along her cheek.

He took in the rest of her body. She was wearing a plum-colored blouse and black pants, with a grey over-coat. When he moved her coat, one of his hands came away with blood. Hurrying, he moved aside Miranda’s over-coat and gently moved her to see where the blood was coming from. That’s when he saw the large, dark stain on her side. He looked up to his driver.

“Eric, I need you to hurry.”

Nodding, Eric replied, “Yes, Monsieur.”

Arriving at the apartment, someone was sent to retrieve a doctor. Needless to say, Nigel was slightly relieved when the doctor finally arrived. Dr. Raymond Momparler was an older man, slightly stooped, but with steady hands as he worked on Miranda. “She has an infection, in addition to the blood loss. She needs to be in a hospital.”

“We can’t. We have to be in the States tomorrow.”

Dr. Momparler frowned.  “I do not think she can travel.”

Nigel eyes pleaded. “Well I need you to get her ready to travel. She must, we **must** be on that plane tomorrow morning.”

Dr. Momparler was pushing seventy-five, was in Paris when the Nazis occupied the city. He spent most of his time providing medical assistance to the Resistance, until he was forced to leave the city and hide. It was a near miss on more times than he could count. Many of his friends and families were killed. However his connection to Nigel was forged by one of the few remaining families from those dark days.

The Priestly family had been spread throughout Western Europe. However, many, if not most, had perished at the infamous death camps. It was pure serendipity that he’d come across Nigel. He’d been sitting at one of his favorite cafes, taking a moment from his medical practice, contemplating whether he was going to return for the day, when the exceptionally well-dressed man dropped heavily into the seat the next table over. He looked as if the world had come crashing down on him. When a single tear began making its way down his cheek, the look of sorrow so poignant, resonating somewhere inside the elder male, touching upon his innate instinct to help someone in need.

He offered one of the many handkerchiefs his wife, Marie always plied him with before he left for the day. “Are you all right?”

Dark, liquid eyes, hiding behind fashionable glasses, peered at him. “I… I-I’m ok. Thank you though.” He mopped up his watery eyes, before chuckling self-deprecatingly. “You’d think after all these years, it would be easier.”

 Dr. Momparler patiently waited, wondering what his story was. One the benefits of his job was that he wore several ‘hats’; one of them being a therapist, compelling people to him their secrets in hope that he’d offer solutions. Most times they simply wanted someone to listen.

He was rewarded for his patience a few moments later. Staring out on the greenery of the park, Nigel started to talk. “It’s been more than 20 years since I’ve seen her. She is like my sister, but she is my cousin.” He shook his head. “You know, when we were kids, we’d imagine coming to Paris for Fashion Week. We’ve both always loved clothes, fashion, that sort of thing.”

He sniffled, feeling his eyes water once again. “Things happened and it was my family that escaped.” Another tear found its way down his cheek anyways. “She…,” he thickly swallowed, “she never blamed me. Always made sure we, I was ok.” He took a few moments to compose himself. “But I know she’s suffering. Especially once she sent _them_ to me. Two people she cares deeply for and no one can know about. ”

From that afternoon on, when Nigel was in town they’d often meet on at the little park café. Then Nigel asked him to make an emergency home-visit. By law he was supposed to report gun-shot victims, but experience and an almost forgotten training, indicated that his new patient had escaped from terrible circumstances. Given her hair-cut, the cut of her clothes, and manicured nails, it wasn’t prison. So his guess was that she escaped from either a kidnapping or perhaps crossed the Berlin Wall.

“Ok. But you must promise me that she will be given proper medical attention once she arrives.”

Nigel rapidly nodded. “I promise.”

But Dr. Momparler had one more request. “And then you must contact me to let me know you have made it.”

Nigel gave a watery smile. “No problem. You have my word.”

Following that, Dr. Momparler disinfected the wounded area, put Miranda on an IV bag, blasting her with antibiotics, and then gave her a shot to hopefully relieve her fever, and any pain, before covering the wound with fresh bandages. He then gave Nigel a set of instructions to follow, recommending  that Miranda be kept mostly sedated the entire trip, and then have an ambulance waiting at the airport upon arrival. That is if Nigel wanted to increase her chances of living.

Dr. Momparler stayed with Nigel and Miranda throughout the night. When the morning came, Nigel and Dr. Momparler dressed Miranda in some clothing that Nigel acquired for her, and then with Eric’s assistance, loaded her into the car. Nigel knew he wouldn’t start to relax until the plane lifted off. Luckily with the helpful assistance of the airline and a wheelchair (Nigel was thankful Miranda wasn’t awake to suffer that indignity), a heartfelt hug to Dr. Momparler and Eric, they finally made their way onto the plane.

With a deep sigh, he thanked the stewardess for bringing blankets for Miranda. During last night he made calls; some to the people appointed by Miranda once she arrived in France, his personal physician for Miranda, who would make arrangements for her immediate treatment, and another to this Andy Sachs. Needless to say, the later was the most surprising conversation.

Nigel was a child of Studio 54 and the Village People. Although his… activities have slowed since the first people started dying from AIDS. Now the community was in a full-blown panic, people who he knew and cared about were either sick or dying, or also losing loved ones. New York and San Francisco were “ground zero.” But it was happening everywhere.  To know that Miranda joined… the ranks during this crisis was both comforting because now he had family to help him through this period, and scary because everyone in the ‘community’ was worried about getting sick, or a loved one becoming sick.

For now that was the least of his concern. Apparently, along with his physician, two red-heads, and a couple of State Department officials, one Andy Sachs would be meeting them in New York. 


	26. Chapter 26

**Mount Sinai Hospital - New York City**

 

Andy sat across from the two red-headed girls. Both were trying to be brave, but today’s events had shaken them. Seeing their mother, after so many years, pale and unconscious was difficult. Currently they were sitting in a private waiting room, while Miranda was  being worked on by doctors.

She pointed to one on the left, “So you’re Cassidy” she then directed her attention to the other twin “and you’re Caroline.” The shy smiles Andy got in return indicated that she guessed right.

“You know you’re mom is the bravest person I’ve ever met. And I’ve traveled the world, so I know what I’m talking about.”  She gently clasped their hands. “She’s also the toughest person I know. She’s gonna be all right.”

The red-head with a tad more freckles, Caroline, started crying in earnest, while her sister tried to comfort her. “Sh-she-she…”she sobbed, “she promised she was finally gonna be with us!”

Andy moved over to the seat directly next to them and wrapped an arm around both girls. “She is. She’s just a little roughed-up. But she’s gonna pull through. She’s been wanting to see you for so long. She’s not going to miss that!” Now both girls were crying in earnest.

Andy’s heart went out to them. It helped distract from her own… despair over seeing the woman she loved in trouble. Nigel, whom Andy quickly took a liking to, was busy talking with Doug, while the slightly high-strung, red-headed woman named, Emily went to get some food for everyone. The two girls’ blue eyes reminded Andy of her lover, and it was all she could do to not get teary-eyed herself.

Deciding that comfort was needed in order to settle in for a potentially long wait, she encouraged the girls to sit with her at a nearby sofa. Cassidy, whom Andy was discovering was the more affectionate of the two, was snuggled on Andy’s lap, while Caroline was curled into her side.

“How do you know our mom?” followed by, “Do you know what happened to her?” 

“Umm, I know your mom from work.”

“You work for the Communists too?” chimed in Caroline.

“No. I work for us, the U.S. But sometimes my work crosses path with other people from different countries. “

Both girls frowned at the response. “What kind of work do you do?”

Andy had a lot of experience with interrogation, but these two girls, who meant the world to Miranda, who could help make or break their relationship, were scaring Andy a little.  At least they stopped crying. She cleared her throat. “I’m an archeologist.”

“Hey! Like Indiana Jones!” Given Andy’s real profession, she hadn’t had a chance to catch a movie. But even she’d heard of the famous movie character. When the girls then began peppering her with questions that compared Jones’ character and experiences to Andy’s, the brunette began to recognize that she probably had more in common with the fictitious character than she realized.

Luckily she was saved from answering more questions from the girls who were quickly sneaking their way into her heart, by the doctor appearing. Everyone stood up in expectation.

“We finally got her stabilized. She’d lost a lot of blood and she had an infection from the bullet wound. Luckily it hadn’t progressed due to the treatment of antibiotics she received in France.” Andy’s shoulders slumped in relief.

“At the moment she is in an induced coma, but it’s only temporary to allow her body to heal. We’ve also started her on an aggressive dose of antibiotics and irrigated the wound. We got rid of any infectious tissue and stitched her up. In addition to the antibiotics, she also on an IV drip of fluids to fight dehydration. She’s a fighter and in great shape, so baring any complications we expect her to make a full recovery.” Andy barely stemmed her tears from over-flowing at the sheer relief and happiness coursing through her veins.

The twins were clutching their Uncle Nigel, who had his arms wrapped tightly around them, crying, seeking comfort. ”When can we see her?”

After being told that a nurse would be here soon to escort only immediate family members to Miranda’s room, Andy tried to stifle the intense disappointment at not being able to immediately see her brave, silver-haired lover. The need to see her, to assure herself that Miranda was indeed all right, was almost overwhelming. But Andy was pretty certain that they wouldn’t allow her in anytime soon. Following a kiss on the top of each twin’s forehead, Nigel lifted his head to stare at Andy. Solemnly nodding his head at her, signaling to the red-head Emily, who then left the room, he ushered the twins down the hall towards Miranda’s room. Doug ambled over to her, both of them staring as the small family walked down the hall with the nurse. He handed her a hot coffee, no doubt, something wholly inadequate from the hospital.

“So we’re going to head back to the office.” Of course Doug knew that Andy wouldn’t be leaving the hospital without seeing Miranda.

During the long wait, they’d walked to the cafeteria where Doug was able to pull from Andy the more… personal aspects of her relationship with Priestnicov. It worried him because in addition to their recent… difficulties with Andy, if Sachs was in love with the former general, Doug wondered just how long she’d stay with the agency. He wouldn’t blame her if she did leave.

“Do you want me to send over some decent food, change of clothes, anything?”

With her arms wrapped tight around her waist, Andy continued to stare down the hallway that Nigel and the twins disappeared from.  “Some food would be great and a pair of sweats would work too. Thanks.” As he began to turn away, she gently grasped his shoulder, halting his departure. “Can you do me a favor, and also grab some food for the girls, Nigel, and Emily? Some pizza, coffee, and water would work. Throw something sweet in there too.” Doug smirked. “What?! They’re kids.”

Patting her hand, Doug gently smiled. “No problem Sachs. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he assured her before making his way out of the room.

She was also still beating herself up about letting Miranda go back to Moscow. She should have followed her instincts that told Andy that trouble was waiting for Miranda. Even if Andy knew that she didn’t have the support of the agency due to her burn-notice, and she wasn’t exactly sure how much she could have helped given that the Soviets have been trying to kill/capture Andy for years, she would have braved anything to protect Miranda. She knew it was irrational, at complete odds with her training, but it didn’t lessen the guilt and need to protect her silver-haired lover.

Which brought Andy to her next problem: being in love (she was finally willing to admit that herself – after all, in her business she didn’t always have the luxury of time) made her vulnerable in the field. If an agent was good at their jobs, the disadvantages were that they accumulated enemies, dangerous enemies, and Andy was good at her job. She would have to be very careful doing any international travel and if Miranda would have her, she’d have to be equally diligent in protecting her lover and her girls. Settling for another long wait, Andy found her seat, hoping she’d get to see Miranda sooner than later.

Andy had fallen asleep, only to waken as someone gently shook her. Rubbing open her bleary eyes, she focused in on Nigel’s face. “You’re up Sachs. Miranda’s awake and wants to see you.”

I have to come up with another nickname for you.” He paused, looking her over, looking thoughtful while the brunette came to full wakefulness. “What size are you?”

Frowning, looking puzzled, Andy stood, and began walking with Nigel. “Wha-? Huh?”

Rolling his eyes in amused exasperation, he dryly responded, “So articulate. What size pants do you wear?”

Looking completely befuddled, Andy responded. “Umm, mostly size 8 or 9 because of my legs.”

“You mean, you don’t get your clothes tailored. No doubt, you grab whatever’s comfortable from a rack.”

“Ahh… yeah. I’m usually more worried about a bullet than if my pants are tailored.” They finally came to Miranda’s room. Andy found her heart steadily thundering in her chest as she anticipated seeing Miranda after almost a month.  

“Point taken.”  And with that he politely pushed open the door for her and Andy fell right into beautiful blue eyes. 

 

***

 

“Miranda,” so much emotion uttered in one word.

She almost didn’t register that Nigel hadn’t followed her in, or that she was alone, since Emily had already taken the girls home to get some rest. Seemingly frail, the larger than life former general laid pale, silvery strands lay lank and tousled, with various tubes hooked up to her.  Andy thought she was beautiful.

“Andréa,” Miranda beckoned. Her voice was raspy, probably due to a tube recently removed.

Andy slowly walked closer to the bed, gently and carefully intertwined her fingers with Miranda’s, and leaned over to brush a kiss on the Russian’s forehead.  Tenderly brushing aside the tousled strands of silvery hair, both women shared a look, before Miranda wearily smiled. “While I hate stating the obvious: sorry I am late.”

Chuckling, still gently finger-combing Miranda’s silky-soft hair Andy wished she could slide into the bed with the older woman, and held her. “I think the emphasis should be placed on the fact that you made it here alive. Somewhat bruised and battered, but alive.”

Still staring into those gorgeous blue eyes, Andy removed her fingers from Miranda’s hair to brush a thumb along precious pink lips. “I was so worried about you,” she whispered.

Needing to touch Andréa’s skin, she somehow raised a trembling hand to tenderly brush her fingers along the brunette’s jaw. “And I, you.” She swallowed thickly. “But we made it.”

Brushing another kiss on the older woman’s lips, Andy agreed. “We did.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have come to the conclusion of this story and I would like to convey my sincerest thanks for everyone who took the time to comment, drop a kudos, or simply read my little fic. It was without a doubt an interesting journey for me; I learned some interesting things, used lots of creative license, and had lots of fun writing it. I ended on a somewhat sultry note - so be CAUTIOUS READING FINAL CHAPTER AT WORK. Other than that, my muse thanks you!

**A Year Later…**

Wearing a _Valentino_ dove-gray, three-quarter length light over-coat, a silky, flowing, _Vivian Westwood_ suit-jacket and pencil skirt, along with a wide collar, white, _Bill Blass_ blouse, that showed tantalizing cleavage, Miranda looked the epitome of a fashionable executive. It was a gorgeous sunny day and they both had some time for a rare extended lunch. This time it was Andy’s turn to pick the venue and she surprised Miranda with a picnic in Central Park.  She was casting exasperated looks at Andy’s red and white-striped Adidas track-suit and matching red-striped and white sneakers.

“Really Andréa. Is it too much to ask that you not wear that when meeting me?” Secretly Miranda loved when Andréa wore the ‘athletic look’ even if it did resemble the current popular _Run-D-M-C_ urban trend. Thankfully she mostly stayed away from completing the look by not wearing either a _Kangol_ hat, or worse gaudy jewelry. However her ‘look’ suited Andy’s current job – training Federal agents, much to the great displeasure of Andy’s former boss and friend, Doug.

Even though Andy no longer needed to work, the brunette no longer trusted her government with her life, and more importantly, Andy had a family to worry about.  So she occasionally does some in-house consulting if Doug needed her help, but otherwise Andy was no longer an operative. Miranda, on the other hand went into business with her cousin Nigel to focus on one of Miranda’s passions: fashion. It has evolved into a reputable consulting firm, offering their expertise on the latest trends, up-and-coming designers, or potential fashion trends. In addition to also gaining a reputation as buyers, Miranda has become the go-to fashion critic. She currently writes a column in the New York Times.  Andy has suggested that they launch a magazine, but Miranda has resisted thus far.

From all reports Miranda is an exacting task-master, goes through assistants like water – although, Emily seems to have a bit of hero-worship, and has managed to stick. The big fashion designers have begun to respect and lobby for Miranda’s approval. Consequently, they were constantly getting free clothes, shoes, bags, or an assortment of things. The only negative from this success was the growing contentious relationship between Miranda and a woman named Anna Wintour – the editor of Vogue. _Really, one thought an editor of a major fashion magazine would have better things to do then to engage in such unpleasantness_ , internally grouched Miranda.

As for them, Miranda and Andy decided to buy a townhouse on the Upper-Eastside and a puppy. Even though they were heading into the late 1980s, living in New York City, being openly gay still wasn’t as acceptable. Throw in the current AIDS crisis, all the subsequent marches, even the increasing deaths from the virus, and New York City was becoming a hotbed of social unrest. Unrest that had Miranda marveling at the open social discontent, being used to an environment (Soviet Union) where that could get you sent to prison, torture, or death. But then there was also simmering unrest within the U.S.S.R. these days. From several reports the Soviets were having some social discontent as well and it appeared to be serious. Even though Mikhail Gorbachev was an upgrade from the totalitarian and despotic leaders of Russia’s past, in the end people wanted more personal freedoms.

Luckily though, Miranda worked in an industry where being gay wasn’t discriminated against. At least, not openly. However, Miranda thought her biggest accomplishment was the love of both her daughters and Andréa. She was almost positive that she wouldn’t have been able to survive without them. It also helped that the sex between Andréa and her was… intense, scintillating, and voracious.

It was if she’d been holding ‘it’ in for years (likely true) and now that the dam has broken, Miranda couldn’t get enough. And if the reactions from Andréa were any indication, it appeared she wasn’t alone in this regard. Whether they were sitting across from each other during dinner, attempting to keep up with the flowing conversation coming from the twins, or Andréa visiting at Miranda at her office; dragging her into her executive bathroom, or pressing the editor down on Miranda’s glass desk, their passion would hotly ignite. Noticing the heated look from Andréa, even though they were in a busy public park, Miranda wondered if Andréa will attempt to drag her to the nearest bush.  And if she’d let her.

“Darling, if you keep looking me like that, I won’t be held responsible for my actions. Later.” promised Miranda.

Watching as Andréa sensually suckling the tip of a strawberry, it was all Miranda could do to stifle the moan that threatened to leave her lips. Instead Andréa simply stated, “I bought something.”

Ignoring the flush that was sweeping along her creamy skin, Miranda slowly munched on a bite of juicy cantaloupe, enjoying the way Andréa hungrily watched as she swiped a trickle of juice on her lower lip. “You’ll have to provide more details than that. What did you buy?”

Leaning carefully closer, not wanting to get food on her clothes, Andy hotly whispered. “Something to try out later. In fact… I’m wearing it now.”

Internally cursing in Russian, Hebrew, and French, to stifle her urge to drag her lover closer for the kiss she was definitely asking for, Miranda carefully kept her eyes on Andréa’s. “And is it something underneath or something more… noticeable?”

At that, Andy smirked, leaned back until she rolled onto her back, and propped up on her elbows. Running hot blue eyes along a body she knew intimately well, her eyes widened when she realized **what** Andréa bought. Feeling her nipples harden, her stomach tighten, and her pussy moistening, this time she no longer fought the flush from sweeping up her neck, to pinken in her face. Cursing again, Miranda wondered how she was supposed to go back to work and conduct a tiresome meeting with the loquacious Donatella Versace, who through no real effort of her own… **liked** Miranda.

“I always knew you didn’t play fair.”

Biting into another strawberry, Andy shifted the toy, enjoying the way it nudged her clit. “What are you gonna do about it?” she challenged.

Miranda narrowed her eyes on her lover’s, before gracefully standing in her 4-inch Prada heels. “Get up.” She glanced at her watch before turning on her heels and began walking away. “Hurry darling. I have a meeting in hour-and-a-half.” She paused to lock lidded eyes on Andy. “Otherwise we’ll have to wait until much later this evening.” Miranda slid her eyes down to Andréa’s crotch, as if knowing, smelling the growing pool of wetness underneath, around the toy. “And I don’t think you can wait that long.”

This time it was Andy that was internally cursing in Mandarin, Cantonese, and English. _How like Miranda to turn the tables on her_ , she thought with exasperated affection. However, this time they’ll both reap the benefits. After depositing the picnic into its basket, Andy grabbed her bag, and followed her lover. The car deposited them at Miranda’s offices. At this point, Andy could barely get her quivering legs to follow her lover, after Miranda had spent the time during the ride over, nudging and pressing the dildo, as she’d lean over to languidly lick a trail of heat along Andy’s ear, before dipping that wicked tongue inside, or hotly suckling her earlobe.  Other times those long elegant fingers would pluck at Andy’s rigid, aching nubs pressing against her jacket. Andy hadn’t bothered to wear a top underneath her track-suit jacket; just a lacey, beautiful bra. Nevertheless Miranda had worked Andy into a froth by the time they made to Miranda’s building.

By the time the made it to older woman’s office, briskly walking past and barking orders at an ever fretting Emily, both women continued on until they both strode into Miranda’s inner-office. Andy quickly shut the door and locked it. Looking like some kind of fallen angel, Miranda stood near the long windows with the sunlight bathing her, her cheeks pink and flush, the light catching brilliant silvery strands like tinsel, breasts heaving as if they were straining against their confines.

Hungrily, Andy watched as her lover slowly reached up and undid her white _Hermès_ scarf, glittering blues watching her lover’s reactions. As the scarf fell softly to the ground the sight of Andréa slowly unzipping her jacket, the sound almost as loud as a gunshot, particularly when she realized that her young lover was only wearing a sexy, lace _La Perla_ bra, Miranda suddenly wished they’d gone home instead. Andrea walked closer until she stood a few inches from her lover, her toy slightly nudging Miranda’s center. She placed her hands on either side of the older woman’s head against the window, trapping her. Miranda shivered enjoying the delicious build-up, wishing they had more time.

The silver-haired woman clasped her hands along Andréa’s waist, slowly sliding them up, her thumbs trailing along her lover’s muscled abdomen, until they cupped underneath the younger woman’s breasts. This time it was Andréa’s breasts that were heaving, her nipples once again begging for her lover’s attention. When Miranda’s thumb started strumming against the stiff nubs, it was all Andy could do to stifle a cry wanting to tear from her throat.

Instead she decided to distract, as much as possible from the fingers that were now teasingly stroking around her areola, before they began tenderly, but firmly grasping, pinching, and rolling her reddening nipples. Her hand edged along Miranda’s silk-stocking-clad thighs, moving up to the edge of her lover’s pencil skirt, bunching up the expensive material until Miranda stood with the skirt scrunched up around her waist, but her bottom deliciously framed by garter straps, and rapidly soaked thong, along with her long, sleekly muscled legs in a pair of 4-inch heels

Crashing her lips against Miranda’s, their tongues dueling, twining, eliciting sounds rumbling forth from their heaving chests and throats, while Andy fondled and cupped the Russian’s firm ass. Miranda’s hands had flattened against Andy’s chest, her nipples piercing lover’s palms, as Andy began grinding, rolling, lightly thrusting the toy as she planted herself firmly in between firm thighs, against Miranda’s blood-swollen cunt. The older woman removed her hand from Andy’s chest to slide up around her brunette lover’s neck, up into the luscious brown locks.

Whimpering when Andréa suckled her tongue, finally needing air, they reluctantly separated, her head falling back against the window, gasps erupted from her lips as Andy’s swollen lips began nibbling their way along her jaw, down along Miranda’s swan-like neck.  Mentally, Miranda rolled her eyes thinking that if people knew just how many times Andréa and her made love in almost-public places, they’d be shocked. In fact, they’d almost gotten caught while attending one of the many society event functions filling up their calendar.

There’s something about the sound of a skirt sliding against skin, the feel of palms caressing expensive silk stockings until they meet naked, warm, silkier skin. The tangy smell of arousal; arousal you’ve caused staining the air, deliciously coating the inside of your nostrils. Even better is the sensation of the tips of her fingers finding warm, liquid, honey-like substances coating the inside of her silver-haired lover’s smooth thighs. Tracing invisible designs through the wetness, reveling in the whimpers emanating from her lover, Andy teasingly danced her fingers closer to the wet heat. The thong was a mere impediment; the panel was completely soaked through, swollen lips pushing out the cloth, sensitive, and aching for Andy’s touch. Miranda’s clit grew hard; almost pebble-like that quivered underneath Andy’s fingertips lightly swirling over its tip.

“Fuck! I love how wet you get for me,” Andy seductively hissed.

Miranda’s hands clenched helplessly in response around the brunette’s strong shoulders; as if she were holding on for dear life, while Andy fondled and stroked the Russian’s swollen flesh. Underneath her track pants, the latex toy was creating additional havoc on Andy’s control. The base of it nudged her pulsating clit every time it pressed against Miranda. Her own wetness was smeared all around her groin-area and inner-thighs creating a mess that she sincerely hoped they’d have time for Miranda’s mouth to clean up.

But the brunette knew Emily would jealously guard her boss’ domain from anyone entering; so if Miranda was a tad bit late for her next appointment, Andy made a mental note to make it up to her later.

 “Ooohh, oh… Andréa!” Her brunette lover’s fingers had pushed aside the completely ruined cloth of her thong, and were now sliding, pinching, lightly twisting her lower-lips, teasingly fingering Miranda’s sopping hole, before pulling away to once again strum and fondle her lips. Meanwhile Andy’s other hand had been busy squeezing and cupping Miranda’s delectably firm bottom. Admittedly it was one of Andy’s favorite parts of Miranda and she’s already spent several glorious hours reacquainting herself with her lover’s impressive asset.

At that moment a brief memory of Miranda on all-fours, with Andy’s fingers plunging themselves inside her tight cunt, caused the brunette to suddenly jerk and roll her hips against Miranda, once again grinding the toy into Miranda’s folds.  “You remember?” she started almost rhetorically because she planned to recount the scene as she fucked her lover in her office. “You remember that time we both made it home for lunch?”

Once again, Andy swirled and stroked her fingertip against the older woman’s blood-red and throbbing clit, causing Miranda to cry out. “Open your blouse more and unlatch your bra.” She ordered.

Somehow the order managed to register in Miranda’s lust-clouded brain, but it only served to ratchet her hunger even more.  With trembling fingers Miranda managed to unbutton her blouse, the fastening for her bra was in the front, which made it easier for her to unhook. When her creamy, flushed breasts, capped with rigid, pink nipples spilled out, Andy was suddenly overcome for her need to feel those hardened tips in her mouth. Leaning over, she slowly lapped her was down the slope of her lover’s breast until she came to Miranda’s crinkled areola. Tracing the tip of her tongue around the now aching nipple, Andy finally gave into temptation and hotly suckled the nub in her mouth. Long, elegant fingers tangled in her hair holding, pressing her head closer.

“Yesss!” Miranda hoarsely uttered.” Swirling, circling her tongue around the tip, Andy removed her hand from Miranda’s bottom to quickly push her pants down around thighs, somewhat alleviating the increasing ache in her pussy from both the toy and from wanting, needing her silver-haired lover. Curling her hips so that the tip of the toy nudged into between Miranda’s wet folds, elicited another vocal response from her Russian. “Oh god! Andrea… I nee—“

Nipping the tip of her lover’s intensely reddened nipple, Andy lifted her head. “You remember,” She repeated, “…how my fingers felt, how desperately you were begging for it?”  moving her lips to the other nipple, her hips canted back, giving her room, while her other hand gripped the toy and began  sliding the tip through the folds, circling Miranda’s quivering clit, coating it with wetness, the smell making Andy’s mouth water.

Miranda was having a hard time standing in her 4-inch heels, her legs were weakening; she was thankful her giant office window, as well as her naughty lover were holding her in place. But she suspected that Andréa loved seeing her lose… control. Almost as much as when Miranda extended the same courtesy; seeing her brunette lover writhing and pleading with her to make her cum was very intoxicating. However, none of this mattered when Andy pulled the toy away to allow two of her fingers to slowly, almost tortuously press inside.

Groaning, Andy could barely keep her head upright from the sheer want whipping inside her when Miranda clenched her walls around her fingers. “Do you remember how wet you were? How you came and came… remember how there was so much I even let you have a little taste from my fingers?”

Crying out, Miranda clenched in her jaw, whispered brokenly, “Andréa…  I don’t know how long I can stan-“

“Shhhh, I got you.” Andy gently removed her fingers from inside her lover, using both hands – one wet with Miranda’s juices, and curled them around Miranda’s thighs, lifted, hoisting her up, until Miranda’s legs were wrapped around Andy’s waist. Staring into glowing-hot, sapphire-blue eyes, Andy brushed her lips against her lover’s. “I love you.” And with that, she used one hand to guide the tip of the toy into the greedy, pulsing cunt, juices spilling out around it as it pressed in.

Curling her arms around her brunette lover’s neck, Andréa’s hair tickling against her skin, Miranda crushed her lips against Andy – needing to mute the choking scream that crept out when Andy pressed the toy inside. Eyes fluttering shut when the toy finally bottomed out, nudging her cervix, hitting a roughened patch of nerves that had Miranda moaning, she could only curl and dance her tongue inside Andréa’s mouth, adding to the multitude of sensations.   
  
Motionless for a few moments, allowing Miranda to adjust, Andy managed to lift her mouth from her lover’s, while slightly rolling and thrusting her hips, barely able to contain herself as the toy, Miranda nudge its base against her clit. Briefly she wondered how surprised people would be to see the seemingly icy, dragon-like, military-turned-fashion-business executive, with her skin flushed pink, her creamy, full breasts spilling out, with nipples wet and red from Andy’s mouth, her head falling back, silver-white hair spilling out behind her, exposing her long, swan-like neck peppered with blemished reddened-purplish skin. With her skirt pushed up around her waist, her long, gorgeous, satin-stocking-encased legs wrapped around her lover’s waist, while Andy fucked a slightly-bigger-than-medium-sized dildo inside her with her ruined thong edged to the side.

Miranda’s head lifted up to once again, stare into her lover’s eyes. “Now,” she demanded.

With a slow grin, heavy-lidded, bronze-colored eyes, Andy began thrusting, rolling, circling, churning her hips like making butter; the dildo stroked over sensitive nerve-endings, dragged against pulsating, wet walls as they clenched around it. With one arm tightly curled around Miranda’s thigh, pressing her lover into the window, Andy reached down to begin stroking, pinching, and tugging Miranda’s now bulbous, throbbing clit. At the same time, the base of the dildo kept hitting Andy’s own pebbled nub, creating the delicious tension she needed. Kissing her lover again, it allowed both women to release the sounds clamoring up from their throats.

Tightening her hold on Andréa, Miranda could feel the curdled warmth building inside, the way her muscles began to lightly flutter around the toy, her clit becoming impossibly harder as Andréa’s wicked fingers fondled the quivering muscle. “Yessss… so close. “

Like a tsunami approaching, Andy could feel her own orgasm gathering steam, about to hit, her core quivering, tightening in anticipation. Lifting her hands to cup them around her lover’s face, her eyes still closed, sharing intense, deep kisses with Andréa, Miranda was able to drag her eyes open, staring into her lover’s beautiful bronze-colored ones, at the moment the storm broke.

“Oohh, yes, I’m cumming.” she breathed. Ripping through her like a freight train, muscles clenched down powerfully on Andréa’s dildo, her clit furiously fluttering away, as juices poured out, creating lewd wet sounds as Andy continued the in-and-out motion, allowing her own orgasm to curl up her spin, spread out inside her core, to explode in her clit.

“Miranda! Fuck… yes!” Her hips juddering, stiffening, as her head dropped down on Miranda’s shoulder, her lips mouthing her pulse point. She removed her soaked fingers from Miranda’s clit to provide some leverage as her legs weakened while the orgasm thundered through both of them.

Panting heavily, the after-quakes causing both women to shudder in response, Andy finally lifted her suddenly too-heavy head to peer at her lover. Wet silver strands of hair hung over Miranda’s brow and temple. Her skin still pink as her eyes slowly opened. Andy gently maneuvered them to the sofa and somehow sat down without tipping either of them over. Miranda moaned as the dildo moved inside her from the action. Both women worked to help remove the older woman from the dildo, Miranda then slid to the side of her lover, snuggling against her as she tried to regain her equilibrium.

Running her fingers through her slightly dampened hair, Miranda rolled her eyes. “Well, I certainly cannot have Donatella in here.”

Chuckling, Andy looked are her lover’s completely tousled form and then down at the wet dildo standing proudly from her nest of curls. “Yeah, probably not. “

Stretching her hands high above her head, she smirked at Andy. Her lover looked quite smug – if a little lewd with that dildo standing tall. “Put that away. This is a place of business.”

Silence met that statement before both women began laughing heartily. Standing a little unsteadily, Miranda began walking towards her bathroom, while Andy began straightening herself – as much as possible with her entire groin area wet, which meant momentarily removing her pants until she could… dry off.  Walking in half-naked, behind her lover, pressing a soft kiss on her shoulder, Miranda passed her a warm wash-cloth. After removing the toy, she wiped herself down, while inhaling the delicious remnants of her and Miranda’s arousal. “I love how we smell.”

 ** _Hmpf_** , Miranda grunted in response. “Well I can assure you, neither Emily nor Nigel would enjoy it nearly as much.”

Once they were suitably dressed, Miranda stood at her desk delivering orders to Emily via phone. Andy was busy stuffing the toy into her bag, admiring how quickly Miranda could become smooth and polished after being ravished only moments before.  Walking closer to her lover, Andy pressed another kiss against the corner of Miranda’s still swollen lips. “The girls wanted to make pizzas tonight. Do you have any requests for toppings?”

Curling an arm around Andy’s waist, Miranda completed her call, hung up, and redirected her attention to Andy. Gently brushing her lips against Andréa’s, Miranda softly uttered. “I love you too,” referring to Andy’s earlier declaration. “And I want artichoke hearts and mushrooms.”

Stepping away from her lover, Andy shouldered her bag, waved a kiss to the silver-haired woman, and left. Smirking at a red-faced Emily, the brunette marveled at how much her life had changed and it was all because of Miranda. As an operative, she knew better than most, similar to a pebble thrown into a pond, how one event, even a seemingly innocuous one, could create a rippling effect that had surprising outcomes. Miranda had been the ripple, love was the result. 


End file.
